Malé
At times I’ve lived where palm trees set the scene.
At certain times I lived where young men pace
In night-time parks dressed up and moonlight keen
For something like romance. They cleanse a space
Around them so they do not brush against
The smell of disappointment. Theirs is hope.
The fragrance of it is like hormones tensed.
What they are seeking is of course a dope
That is not snorted or injected in
Their veins. It is the drug, that hit of choice,
That young men always want, exquisite sin,
Iniquity that has forever’s voice.
These young men’s eyes, nocturnal in their aim,
Are searching for a promise in their shame.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Aug 10, 2024 | MA |