Which one of them asked? Can I touch your pecs? Was it night curiosity pumping him full of bravery?
These men trade places
massaging each other’s chests, biceps,
shoulders for the world to see.
Which one of them asked? Can I touch
your pecs? Was it night curiosity
pumping him full of bravery?
Lotion gliding across soft muscle;
the roasting of a plump bird
the fording between riverbanks
the cleavage between laughter
He giggles through the whole massage,
eyes peeking at the camera
searching for some validation
from an unknown audience,
“This is gay right? This is weird
and I’m weird but it’s also nice.”
Palpating flesh like folding fresh
linens, a concert of dexterity,
a ritual that begins when he
removes his shirt. He is laid bare