The world is burning, so I just had to make time for another sonnet about another boy, for that one time in Wat Pho, beginning with a line from Angkarn Kalayanapong
To the hell of ever-lasting fire I’ll follow you
had I believed in some divine power who
in all worlds & all lives they toy w/ over & over
wouldn’t, at some point in their boring eternity,
break into a smile, to finally, finally, after
battering our goddamn hearts, ever so
gently, tell us, after all, it’s alright…, this
perhaps is the closest we’ll ever come:
watching you sweaty & disheveled after
throwing เซียมซี sticks at the temple, probably
praying for a boy who wouldn’t even come out
for you in the sweltering afternoon, I say,
it’s alright, grinning as I fan your glowing face
w/ an open hand &, even as I write this down, wait
The sonnet's a good form—a great form!—for queerness
cause how can you talk abt kissing in a park
for e.g. one sunny Sunday afternoon in Boston
out in the public w/ people probably minding
their own businesseseses (but still?!), us getting on
it w/o warning, right after milk tea after dimsum
before two fat pigeons pecking by our feet till
one of them decides to get serious—Ok!—hops
on top of the other, as on the other side of the earth,
a storm ravages my home, even the thought of w/c
can’t make me pass up on this sudden electric
shoving down my throat—can you blame me, baby
boy who’s gonna go about it on & on & on & on &
so, thank god for 14 lines. I mean, what else
would you want? I’m just a boy going thru all that.
“Lampara / ang iyong mukha"
is what I told you
post-making-love, trying
to tell you whatever it was
I caught mid-thrust:
your face a lamp lit, cause
angelic’s kinda unfair (won’t
say to whom), & beautiful
too serious—tho I’m serious
tho just a little quite, cause
an afternoon’s an afternoon
& it’s all that: a lamp lit
w/ oil running out
in time, runs out of
time. To be looked at.
Tenderness takes time
& teeth. Some talk to me talk to me no
shit. As in, gentle, gentler still, jaw to jaw, no tongue, pure
meat. As in, nibbling as nibble gets
until gnawing. As in, tear me some flesh until flesh
is there barely. As closely as closest
ever gets, so go, go break
me some bones, suck down
these marrows, let all virtues go, save me
no soul. As in, finally
as seem might finally be, you
know, talking, just talking, typical
brute, beast of an honesty, fucking
softness, as softness hopefully gives. Like, how I am
not wearing anything now. Like, please. Speak.
Happiness
In the season finale of my life (thus far), I order
a box of pizza, finish it all by myself &
realize, as it turns out, I didn’t really love you
as much. Ok, maybe, perhaps, but still no
surprise in that, no suddenly piercing
sunlight, no children singing in the background,
O happiness, happiness, no lazy metaphors
like that. But sure, music in a minor key
would be nice (not so much tho!), even
w/o a director cuing me to Look—look outside!
cause this could just be the money shot.
There’s probably no god, but you’ve got to
give it to a guy who’s trying to see signs
from none. Watches himself over & over. From afar.
