Forgive my impatience / for nostalgia, your penicillin or wine, / your muddling through pleasure / as a map whose compass was inked / by men who put darker men / to the lash,
Elephants in the Fall by Dwayne Betts
Rhythm by Kyle Dargan
With a fuel tank full of testosterone, / the procreative drive wedged / like a brick against my throttle, / I break to bail from atop my lover / mid-orgasm—my basting seed / a road winding away from her waist. / I don’t feel guilt, but I say sorry /
for the wreck of me on her skin.
Photo credit: Dale Robbins