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Visit the active LitNet platform at www.litnet.co.za

Leefstyl | Lifestyle > Gay > Poësie | Poetry


Johann de Lange - 2008-11-18


They fle from me that sometyme did me seke
With naked fote stalking my chambre.
Sir Thomas Wyatt

Where have all the beauties gone?
Raoul, young boy
tantalising with closed eyes,
leaning back relaxed
as if caught in a wet dream,
a tiny bee tattooed on his dick;

Judd, sulking
underneath a black Stetson,
his jeans pulled
down, or with only boots
and socks, cock clenched
like a weapon
in his gleaming fist;

cowboy Brad, legs astride
with leather-chaps, bronze
bullhead-buckle belt open
wide horns
above the curly fleece
of a bull's forehead,
lowering, snorting
through a big nose-ring;

and Juan, leaning forward,
listening with cat's-eyes,
whispering ti voglio bene,
latin pupils half-mast,
temptingly un-jealous.
Where will they be tonight?

You smile, your mouth a bow
taut and cruel,
turn your back on me
for the time being
satiated with sex,
between us your blond, untrusting seed:

the bite-mark on your ass
will be fainter tomorrow,
the body's betrayal
- how soon the body forgets -
a horseshoe, or the phantom
of a long-desired punishment.