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 | 0 comments