PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

You grew into adolescence in a residence that, in our

vicinity, was euphemistically called "a broken home":

often severely beaten by that drunken sot, your father.

During middle school, you often associated with the

bullies, the "rough necks," the "hoods," and other

such undesirables whom the enlightened educators in the

school system had labeled as "incorrigibles."

But high school caused a shift in your attitude and

perspective:  the theater department not only

invited your participation, but assisted you to

perfect and hone your dramatic skill and your innate

ability to memorize long sections of dramatic texts.

Due to your appearance (tall, slender, very agile

limbs not overly muscular, but obviously strong;

shag haircut parted in the middle---still, in those

days considered somewhat subversive, especially with

your jet black hair actually touching your shoulders), you

were often cast in the part of the villain or the thug

(Tybalt or Polonius---characters of that nature).

Your voice could project a tone that most people found

menacing---or so some of the reviews mentioned.

Graduating to community college, you continued to

perform perfectly the parts for which you were most

qualified.  Of course, I knew a more private aspect of

your personality and existence:  your considerable

beauty---shoeless and shirtless---clad in a pair of

pinstriped gray slacks and socks as black as your hair,

relaxing with me casually as we awaited delivery of a

pizza.  Later, in our bed, naked except for those socks,

your need, revealed in your eyes and the desire implied by 

your smile sought a sensual satisfaction to completeness:

your body, shuddering with intimate pleasure (sheathed in

softness, your feet flexing and your toes curled) as the

sevenfold, autonomic contractions commenced to their

climax in the e'lations that released the long, warm

streaks of your iridescent sweetness.

Starward

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