Poem: "Adonis Resurrected"

I am flooded with joy
when your hair trembles,
a golden moment
curled in my hand,
preserved and lost;

when I touch your cheek,
it unravels in shades of pink,
opening like a rose
at the first instance of sunlight;

when I run my thumb
gently over your soft
crimson lips,
I feel them
explode,
heavy with the sweet pollen
of this moment;

when I kiss you
I get drunk from just the taste
of the heavy wine of Eros
bubbling up from some hidden spring
at the completeness of you,
my own Adonis
brought back to life
from the tomb of age
and the dust of obscurity;

I feel your chest heave
when we kiss,
I revel in the perfection
of you, my Adonis;

I dare not close my eyes,
for I want to praise the
completeness
of your form with all my senses:

my eyes are blessed,
my hands are blessed,
my ears are blessed,
my lips and tongue are blessed,
my nose is blessed,
my whole body, my whole flesh is blessed

to take you all in, to embrace you
with all senses, to be under your
timeless spell,
the spell of adoration;

I praise you, my Adonis,
I wish for this moment
of godly intoxication
to last ten lifetimes;

I wish this afternoon,
this sun, this balmy breeze, this private garden,
would go on and on,
moment eternal,
Eros without end.

Poem: "Freedom for Lovers"

At last, at last! The sun has cast
His final rays beneath the sea!
The night wind glides upon the waves
And teases you and me.

The only sound is of the sea;
At night my eyes are of no use;
Yet I can feel your lips on mine,
Trying to pry them loose.

I feel the warmth of skin on skin,
I savor all the labored breath
That shelters me from pitch-dark night
And from the sea of death;

I feel you tugging on my hair,
I crave your wet lips on my cheek,
I beg without a word to say,
My arms and legs grow weak;

We're free at last from daylight's glare
Which so long beat us black and blue,
We're free, with nothing left to mourn
And no days left to rue.

Two souls, two manly bodies, linked
And formless on a formless beach;
I swear I can hear Sirens, singing
And laughing each to each...

Poem: "Ganymede"

Wrote this over the summer. Inspired by Schubert's setting of the poem of the same name by Goethe. Here's a recording by one of my favorite baritones, Bryn Terfel, singing. As always, comments are appreciated.

Ganymede:
Surf lashes gently against the rocks
which bear each silent crack as dawn spreads
lovingly over the far cliffs and the beach,
a blanket of panacea. Slowly, tidal pools
open and reveal their denizens
snoring and dreaming simple-celled dreams
of nothingness beneath a thin, clear margin
of dream-preserving brine.

From above, high beyond human sight,
your form languidly dives down, soundless at first,
then your terrific wings beat
upon the air around me, whipping the surf
into a frenzy, making it lash harder and harder
against Time's unflinching stony scions. Your eyes,
brilliant and smooth as cut glass
on another beach, in a more turbulent time,
pierce to the bottom of that pit
where in a human being a soul might be,
deigning to fill it first with apprehension
of what may come, what promises may be made,
what secret passions may yet be explored
here, in the quiet hours before the youths
come frolicking all over the baking sand.

For now, just you and me are here, my Lord.
Your glossy feathers coating me in silk,
shielding me from the jealous salty sea-air,
cooling one thirst but simultaneously
causing another to erupt, fountain-like,
from that hole which you wish to fill
like builders seal a crack or doctors bandage
a messy wound with soothing balm and gauze.
For now, it's just the two of us, engaged
in dancing on the dawn-lit beach, the sea
looking up and reaching out, its waves
the color of dark wine, the color of jealousy,
its foamy tendrils pulsing in and out,
desperately grasping at what is yours
and mine and only shared between us two.
No trios here, only a minuet
repeating endlessly, a three-four step
of heartbeat against eagle wings transforming
into those limbs that only gods possess:
taut like sturdy rope, cured like leather,
calm on the outside, powered by an ichor
unknown to any here on earth who lift weights,
they are the form of "gorgeous", as Plato might see it.

A flash of light: your eyes still fixed on mine,
unfailing in their caring attitude;
you hold me as is fitting for a lover
who bears your stature and your pure desire,
a fraction of which burns within me, frail
but undying. Surf still beats on the rocks,
keeping a steady undercurrent going
as bodies twist, aligning, hair and fingers
meeting and mixing, bodies falling into the foam,
lips hitting lips, minds senseless to hold back
the all-encompassing lust which surges through
your ichored veins and mine.

Oh Lord and master of my mortal senses,
All-Loving Father of Olympus, take me
to be your faithful servant among the clouds!
Make me your cupbearer, my life be damned:
what good am I, another in a line
of princes who will never see the throne
which Priam bound unto himself by age?
What shall I do but grow old as a prince?
What good am I when others of my race
shall live and die before I'm eligible
to wield the powers which pale compared to yours?
Make me your bearer, he who sits the closest--
no, lays his head upon his master's chest,
secured by passion sublimated
into a love like gold, unburdened by
the dross of mortal neediness. Dear Jove,
I beg you, as we fly upon the wings
of envious Zephyr, to make me eternally yours,
to have and hold as you see fit.
I cannot return to Troy: its mighty towers now
seem nothing more than puffs of smoke
than solid structures.

In this moment, Jove,
All-Father and Creator, as we hover
between the mortal and the transcendent,
I ask you to make this moment last forever,
that we may be united so forever,
two lovers sublimated into one
all-encompassing soul that dissolves
into the sounds of surf lashing the rocks
and dawn spreading her panacea
over the wine-dark sea.