Homoousion

two pieces of homosexual erotica

1

The copper scent of muscles wiry
becomes you in the moonlit glen.
You are my fantasy, so wrought,
erected homoousion with men.

The glen is gossamer, of dreams
emerged as webs of silk.
No fetish bilks the sex of pride;
you are and always were a nude.

The gaiety of old Eros
erodes all my poetic thought.
A crudity of lust returns
and thinks of arse, of cock.

Of coarse and rugged flesh
and how I’d like to feast on it,
engorged and pressed against
a firmament of man’s temple.

You look at me, I blink, I turn
around and suddenly am naked
too, and through the trees
can see a pair of angel wings.

The head is bowed and all is grey,
it is a monument. I try to break
the gossamer apart, but feel
your hand on my shoulder.

You’re telling me to bend over.
And since this is just gossamer,
a glen apart from monuments,
it isn’t homoousion with God.

But simply men. And so relief
anoints and washes over me.
(A healing prick, perhaps!)
The stone angel recedes.

2

you deny yourself so long
that it feels natural
to let your needs wither

to act like you don’t have a cock
a prostate or even an arse
as if you’re not really a bloke because
you’re excited by blokes

but what’s not natural
is to never stroke your cock because
you feel that you’re better than that

to never just give in and be a man
even if the man you are is only 1 in 10

to never come for either someone else
or even just yourself because
you think that you don’t have the right

to sit on something hard and long
although your arse is begging to

although you need a seeing-to
much more than you need gods