like boys do


i’ve been counting as they appear. first that single dark curl, querulous infiltrator making ready for the coming insurrection, now proliferating to a whole half-dozen, scraggly wreath to my navel. my boyhood has come late in life, having begun in my early 20s.

just old enough to have learned to nurture, he wetted me down with letters and i grew inside of myself like the plant embryo inside of a seed, the boy i have become, what i am yet becoming. he wore a beautifully trimmed and waxed curlicue of his own. i fantasized about its delicate bottle brushings as he sucked my cock with kiss-swollen lips, lids creased closed on all-seeing eyes. he breathed my boy name heavily into my ear while i pushed my hand inside of him and i felt seen in terrifying detail as though for the first time in my entire life.

like boys do, i ran away when he tried to draw me close. i still needed my time as a wild thing, and tho he was not attempting capture i felt tangled just the same. we clasp hands across the distance now and then, but the time when we strung words, hands, and bodies back and forth feels far away now, tho it’s only a few miles from where i live now, under another streetlight.


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