My Type (a work in progress)

My Type    (A Work in Progress)

Where shall I begin

Flamenco dancer

Wet dream at  thirteen

Dancing up against me

Under the live oak tree

Shaking her red ruffled dress

Stomping her feet in the grass

Until I ejaculate

The boy at  Episcopal camp

Bedding me a night of mutual

Masturbation

Pretty pearls of metaphor

And discarded innocence

Hairless chest abs of 15

Eyes of wonder skin with sheen

Scarlet blond hair delicate neck

Presenting herself to me on our bus

Across the hills of Virginia

Lucious lips invent a story of her life

A month later sweet as honey

She finishes  her virginity and mine

Melting like ice cream on the cone

Playing Chopin all passion Botticelli's

Pianist with El Greco's  fingers

Hard as his keys and as white in the moonlight

Grace as he emerges from the salt sea

As we open up ourselves on the beach

Jacksonville

Six hot weeks of nocturnes

And so they go the images of my

Memory my dreams my existential

Embodiments Afro-American to Zapotec

Not the ontology of desire

Not want not need

Now my type dives  in over our heads

Flowing with  music  penetrating with words

Jack 4/5/'11

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