Dominant Pig

Dominant Pig

I was asked how to sustain homoerotic sex

without falling into intentional eruptions

which involve dominance. I answered

with a single letter: I let my mouth open

a heavenly poppy. The poppy opened

without anyone touching its petals.

These poppy fields, pig styles my blood,

gave in to intentions with stipulated traits.

That is how they exhausted lead skies, and their four

Asian walls, their nylon dresses.

The eruptions to which they responded

wrote a book whose backbone was a stem

and its leaves upheld the bark of the trees

made of the steel from which they were born.

On those poppy fields intentions reacted

with minor swings to insert themselves

into the tail of the firmament. It was

like making firewood from Ceiba trees thorns.

I didn’t care about the thorns, just the order

of the punctures they left on my hands.