I mount him
from behind—his moan
is fresh water
crying from the spigot.
Yes, I’ve pushed the Good
Book closed after the revelatory
sentence—hydrostatic, divine wisdom
bowing my heart. Have you?
You feel like you’re dying,
until you realize: no,
you’re just seeing
yourself for the first time. New
knowledge will do that. Pleasure
is information. My heart swells
like his penis as I pound
him into the mattress.
If he had wings, they’d be covered
with eyes, and they’d all be rolling back.
No, I’m not inside him.
Considering my lack, I press
my face into his feathers.
I’ve opened something I cannot close.
Is this okay?
I ask in a whisper,
and, you are so good,
pushing his head into the pillow.
All the eyes, seeing me, seeing me:
I perform myself a man.
He moans like a revelation.
A revelation’s promise is always a new name.