@ 27.105 MHz: P.B., "PoemBorne," Early 1980; An Ekphrasis

Your mundane names' initials inspired the

appellation some poet gave you, PoemBorne,

to bring your presence into these lines.

Your provocative and, even, suggestive




(which, regardless of the prejudice of haters and

enviers, deserves a line of its own and, thus,

I have placed it) lingers in the only photograph

I have of you, and of that time---early 1980---

when the chilled and unthawed outer exterior

environment (an apt metaphor of the

social and political temperature that

fridgerated the campus) but was unable to

cool the heat of affection and of desire that

felt like an incandescence between us.

How shall I describe your remarkable appearance?

Your smile was shyly sensual---consistent

even under adverse circumstances and discouragements---

but, in your eyes, was the same need I, too, always

felt; despite the buoyancies of our Senior Year and the

prospect of our permanent escape from this place

where we never really fit in, or felt that we did.

You had chosen, for our evening, a button-down shirt, an

elegantly teal-colored fabric, with the cuffs unfastened,

loose at your wrists; and gray "dress slacks" just a bit

baggy---a look that you always wore well and that

others could only unfashionably imitate. For your

comfort and my own arousal (I always enjoyed that

double distiction you offered by way of explanation),

you had abandoned your shoes elsewhere to disclose the

tease of midnight blue socks---which offered a warm and

fragrant softness, to which (as you knew and enjoyed) I

responded with ardent kisses and caresses.  And, as I

learned later that night, these were not the only socks

deployed between us:  you had brought two other pairs---

metallic blues with the slenderest seams across your toes'

cleavage; and semi-sheer fawn-grays; and these, too, you

intended to puctuate, accentusate, your otherwise

nakedness when we, having read a few of Cavafy's most

erotic verses---and the hour had grown very late on this

casual weekend night in the Tower dormitory now become

silent around us (hangovers, exhaustions)---explored,

eagerly and delightedly, the satisfactions of intimate love.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

The speaker of the poem has retained, even after all these years, a copy of the photograph; which, I can attest, is unusually beautiful in its depiction of a moment more implicit than explicit, and therefore exquisitely poetic.  The details of the dormitory are confirmed by my own experience at the same time; and those of us who were aware of certain details were, as well, aware of that the souls and bodies of these two romantics had quietly and unflamboyantly coupled.

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