Call Me By Your Name,

 

Boys in bloom. 

Leaning against the backdrop of stolen

glances, they moved one another;

bucking and huffing in heat.

I saw them tracing each other’s 

skin with pinkish whispers,

stumbling between bookcases, bumbling 

trees and powdered hills.

One sat with boxers in hand and the other,

atop a bike seat.

I knew them briefly, intimately and 

erotically, while they existed only for

one another.

And although they longed for the embrace

of romance,

they were repulsed by its intimacy.

Yearning with dark eyes and yet questioning

the disruption of their truths. 

‘Maybe at the ends of each name a 

revelation existed,’ I thought.

Each letter a confrontation of all

that seemed Good. 

All that seemed aligned with what Goodness

and Rightness stood for.

But if these were men bending and arching

to reach the ‘Good Life,’ 

then what am I?

​