By Seirce Mhac Conghail
I see the rolling tide
Ride his ready shoulders
Boulder chest ocean heart open lungs
Pink, like his blush
A satin strand caught
In a wheat field caught in the sun
Golden syrup pour. The carve of his chin
The cliffs of him, jaw
A roaring coast
To stand on your toes and hold your breath
The perfect stone of his throat
Sits jewell-like, a key
A thousand chords of it
Bend against his helium pull
The takemeaway of his trace.
He stands like a man. God, his command
That thick liquid rumble,
To swim to the source.
His clean corner, cornflower eye
His choirboy rugged, pristine scar
His all and his everything
He is everything.
He watches his name slide down your esophagus.
He sees the light slipping to your stomach, staying.
You smile at him.
He believes you.
If my mouth could fill with the full of your vowels
I’d swallow like treacle
I press my head to the gate
And lick my lips.