Wednesday, November 29, 2017



PROLOGUE: By Bigdaddy Blues

Difficult as it is to capture the emotional essence of what we believe to be true love in plain words I believe we must at least make an attempt to do so. The documentation and study of love is the most neglected science in twenty-first century culture… Love it might be argued, is practically completely ignored if not altogether mistaken for sex…

But every man who has been fortunate enough to experience the very best of both love and sex will agree they are related but otherwise remarkably different creatures in their own right… 

I do not seek to define either love or sex through poetry, that would be impossible. Love and sex are as uniquely branded as the two or more people who share in them… this means that the role of poetry is rather to document the experience. If any definition for love or sex exists it would be credible only as a purely explicative tool fashioning a virtual but esoteric model of life. A poem like a newspaper conveying a story about something someone did should pull the reader into the very soul of an event that is already past or future history.

When I write about love, and this poem is mostly about love with accessory sex… I aspire to tell the audience what I learned about love and of course sex… It is as much a training manual as it is a fanciful mirage intended to freeze my memory of something profoundly moving and inspiring… I write about love because it is always upon my mind and when it is not a dark and story reflection as in this case it can actually be quite gay… pardon the pun… most important it is the documentation of a real experience.

So what I am saying is that I enjoy the sensory dynamic of my man… spending quality time together close and intimate. Our response to one another is mutually enchanting but it is a magic based in real life practicality. In other words we are both sexually and spiritually compatible… After years of painful experimentation with appeasing the worlds opinion of our relationships we have both decided to ignore the extra-social dynamic and spend the energy previously squandered there on understanding and appreciating one another. Since we are both mature men the prospect of living out our lives together is far more poignant and the reality of both our mortality is a reality we cannot ignore… This makes our journey all the more serious and at the same time it is cause to make the ultimate concession to each other’s truths… If this is the man I think he is I look forward to growing old with him and dying with him as my last and ultimate earthly love…


As long as my man's, ebon-skin and the many handsome parts of him,
touch me, or lay near,
i’ll be a lion basking in recumbent bliss,
adoring the aparitif-cocktailed-whispers of his vernal kiss…

Because I know the timbre of his heart,
is but the gentle stroke of a chamelion’s brush,
fond of painting a joyous landscape,
upon the strata of my soul…
composing a familiar roar twixt loves intermittent hush…

Our un-solicited program boasts a seasoned cast of volcanic affections,
erupting from the lusty ambitions we’ve molded,
into gentlemanly doses of sexual nonfiction,
each climactic episode defines a rustically masculine cinematic direction,
keen to dramatize erotic hallmarks subtly floated above evidentiary detection…

My man and I have disobeyed the worlds intrusions, so our anonymity may replace the pretense of illusion,
freed from life's circus I’ve decided to always make him smile,
Rejecting love’s burgeoning basket of promises but for his,
believing the years will martyr me for trying,
Should I live to find my peace with him… I shall rejoice in it whilst dying...


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