G.R.I.D.

 

Come into me unsheathed
strand, little death hood
between boy and man.

Simmer in the warm lining
of my ass. Dance as I play
percussion on the empty
case of your clarinet,

beat that burns
the blonde of loved arms
to nub, the singeing stink
of your match.

Come over me, decade
of brownouts as I plunge
fingers into a rib cage
and split myself to you.

Come around me, clustering
of little boy smells, raging stain
dripping absence of color
from a bag on a pole.

Come, come to me
in the startled brow
of a lover who called me
his only one,

the small voice saying
the sarcoma on his arm
is a birthmark I’ve forgotten.

First Publication: HIV Here and Now Project, Indolent Books, 2016