and you swoosh past a string of giggling smiles, cosmetic transgenders and frowning homosexuals into the bustling shuffle of downtown transparencies. you see dissatisfaction on a narrow face. bearded and tanned, sitting on a bench in the north quadrangle. you feel the spots on his shriveled skin, beaded with sweat and lost recollections. you want to lend an arm to his mutilated fist, but you shy away. not because you're scared of sarcoma, but your distrust on dripping emotionality. you know you want to walk up to him. meddle with his memories of fluid eroticism. his thirteen years of hide-and-seek on the fabric of social downfalls. his mottled histories and shattered dreams of shady professionalism. you feel the disability in his futuristic imaginings.
two more months, he whispers.
and then you flip back on the velvet of yesterdays. on all the times you've wondered of liquid brawniness and the ferocity of masculine sexuality. of the rough caress of throbbing palms and hypnotic curves of sensuality. of bizarre romanticism crawling through your sentiments. lunging at your conscience. flipping through the montage of social criticisms and cold discrimination. because you loved the vapor of warped fantasies. delusions and tailored metamorphosis.
and you remember the times you encountered AG. discussed homophobia and loving men. the Bible and transactional identities. punishment and legalizations. social myopia and illusory heterosexuality. of the evenings when you mused and pondered over sexual excitability and social values. eveness and imbalance of god-sanctioned emotional routing. of bawdiness and crude emotional vulnerability that made kitschy whores out of narcoleptic strangers, scooped and swirled into anatomical puppets of surrealism. and the silhouettes of nudity merging into frenzied pleasure. erotic love and skewed masculinity... shadowed from the satin of social dogma.
there was a time when JE said, it is evil. we will gauge the distance.
