A Whisper in the Tent

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Gay and Lesbian  |  House: Booksie Classic
Poem from Sky Black on Windowpane - a poetry collection.

Submitted: February 11, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 11, 2008



The fabric walls dance like wind
a civilized boy never hears. Within his
backyard, glowing far off streetlights and
his eyes, dull, see shadows mingle with
these dancers. His flashlight emanates frail
against, rebelliously slow dancing. Only
one beam alone is tired and outstretched.
His friend slips in unannounced, pulling
fresh fragrances redolent of sanded pine
trees. No splinters. Excited, they fall
into stories of horror; that dark orgasm
stuck in their brains and heart. The beam
from the flashlight slithers upon tent walls,
almost like limbs goading them on. Like
secrets, their naked arms are pressed tight,
as they lay turning pages of a magazine.
Hunger falls fast. A kind of sugar too
sweet for their hearts keeps them on their
stomachs. Enclosed in heat of braided
breath, what could be said of the
atmosphere? Thick. Aching. Intimate.
There was something they
felt. A hunger without mouth.
Their imaginations, their horror, soggy
with silence. Their arms pressed together
very loud. The atmosphere was never
silent, never loud. It whispered.

And they didn’t hear.

© Copyright 2018 MichaelMaxfield. All rights reserved.

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