By Ahimsa Timoteo Bodhrán
Would take you into my mouth? But it is not safe here. I feel safe with you, your skin the color of this night—medianoche—but I am concerned for you, worried. Does the safeness you provide me put you in danger? My skin is not as dark as yours, and I cannot always pass like the man you are. Your chest fills the lined ridges of my palms, your hands cradling the split halves of my ass, peachpalmed, each front wet, preliminarily. I know we cannot pass as brothers or, in some circles, even cousins or friends. More than the individual hatred of your skin or mine, I know we will be seen as queer if out this late—our bodies so closely capped together. And as big as you are, and as safe as I feel between your arms, tight around me, I know there is danger in this embrace, papi, and wonder if I am to cause.
Ahimsa Timoteo Bodhrán received his M.F.A. from Brooklyn College and is a Ph.D. candidate at Michigan State University.