I can take it in the daytime.
Or at least I can fake it
for long enough
to get me through another day.
But at night
the polite, diplomatic
boy scout part of me
goes to bed early
and the blood of
Pan and Dionysus
flows through my veins.
The spirit of the satyr moves me
wandering restless and reckless
across concrete and blacktop
looking for the moonlit oak groves
and skyclad nymphs
I know I’ll never find here.
When all else fails
my thoughts wander back to you
and the man you hold on to
and I can’t help but wonder
what it’s like for you
to be with him.
Does he look into your eyes
and feel his pulse quicken
when you put your arms around him?
Is your laughter a drug to him
and your tears a November rain?
Or does he think it’s boring
to lay on the couch holding you
and not even notice
when you’ve had a bad day?
Does he share his world with you
and whisper his secrets to you
and turn to you for advice and inspiration?
Does he listen to you
and pay attention to what moves you
and cherish your dreams
as much as his own?
Or does he think that boys and girls
live in separate worlds
and yours isn’t worth noticing?
Does he see your body as a temple
lavishing you with kisses and caresses
his fingers and hands and lips and tongue
worshiping at the altar of your flesh?
Does he know when to be tender
his touch sliding across your skin
like cascading rose petals
bringing you goosebumps?
Does he know when to be rough
slapping your ass and holding you down
thrusting inside of you
like a wild animal
until you moan and writhe
and cum in his arms?
Or does he grope at you
bluntly in the dark
unaware of your pleasure and passion
using your body to satisfy his needs
and falling asleep
before you’re done with him?
Does he see you as
his Venus
his Aphrodite
his exalted high priestess
queen of heaven and sacred whore
a primal force of nature
whose very presence
ignites his flesh and his soul
in a blaze of holy ecstasy?
Or does he think of you as
his ball and chain
a burden he bears
in exchange for the services of
a maid, a nanny, a fuck buddy?
As I wander restless and reckless
the moon has no words for me
but I know the answers
to my own questions.
My blood runs cold
and I feel forgotten forces
burning and churning and yearning
through my flesh.
The old gods stir in the soil underfoot
immortal bringers of passion and power
beyond all comprehension
rising in defiance of
lifeless life and loveless love.
But the new gods of blacktop and concrete
plastic and steel
stand immobile
on the smothered flesh
of our mother
and the night remains
shrouded in silence.
My chest collapses with a sigh.
The fire dies down into smoldering embers
and I start the long walk home.
As I walk up my front steps
one last question
flashes across my mind.
Does he do enough for you
that at the end of the day
the feel of his warm body
in bed beside you
brings you comfort enough
to help you sleep?
Maybe that’s enough, then.
If it’s enough to keep you from
wandering the streets at night
pacing back and forth
like a caged animal
then I’m happy for you.
But if he can’t even do that for you
then maybe you need to be
restless and reckless like I am
and maybe while we both wander
our paths will cross.
The light of a full moon
is crisp and bright on a cloudless night
and I have no doubt that
if we find each other here
it will all become clear
and we’ll find our way home
together.