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where the reed faun grows
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Where the Faun Drew Them Near
Night settled slow along the ridge,
A sway of grass beneath their feet.
The boys stood close, too close to speak,
Their breaths entwined in rising heat.
One leaned in first, not touching yet,
Just letting warmth meet warmth in air.
The other answered with a tilt,
A nearness trembling into dare.
Fine hairs brushed like whispered thought,
A fleeting graze, a startled spark.
Skin hovered just a breath apart,
A glow that held them through the dark.
Their chests rose high, then fell as one,
A rhythm neither meant to share.
The world grew tight around their frames,
As if the night had trapped them there.
The faun stepped softly through the dusk,
Its presence shaping how they swayed.
Not urging, only drawing out
The pull they’d hidden, half‑displayed.
A gaze met gaze, then slipped, then held—
A loop of wanting, shy and bright.
Their bodies warmed from hip to throat,
A heat that gathered without flight.
No grinding, no forbidden leap,
Just longing held in careful space.
Two boys who felt their world ignite
And dared to stand within its grace.
.
Beautiful! And I mean . . .
Beautiful! And I mean . . . BEAUTIFUL! And it calls for a sequel.
Starward-Led (in Chrismation, Januarius)
Thanks again. The poem "the
Thanks again. The poem "the day they carried " was meant to follow. Perhaps it would pass as a sequel.
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
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