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Distance from what is said.
by Bob ArcaniaIn my poetry, I am forever a top.
(And here I lie, the sheets, they itch.
Not in my open palms, my clenched palms,
not against my toes swan diving mattresses,
but all up along my spine. It has grown
into each notch, the itch spreading, and I
can only tear my fingers into his back
as he eagers further through me.)
He squirms beneath me. 03/27/2007 Author's Note: Who I am from here to there is incalcuable, but in words, says much.
Posted on 03/27/2007
Copyright © 2026 Bob Arcania
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