Preparing to dive, poolside,
he bares a pitted chest,
draws stares to his
one sunk dent of a sternum.
A fistprint, no doubt, a masculine lack.
Flaccid buckling,
unsexed.
But I recognize this.
With a swimmer’s intelligence,
he’s packed up a lifetime
of unexhaled sighs and
compressed them into a
dense core of his own
immense gravity.
It threatens collapse but it’s
breath enough for the
coming submersion.
No comments:
Post a Comment