Ode
to the poop in my lover’s rectum
When men beg, I do not believe them.
But I oblige any man who wants me
Forgive last night’s intrusion.
He invited me in.
Which is to say I stayed silent
about my index finger’s report,
obeyed his instructions like any guest would.
While it is true that I am learning
never to shame the body for its terms,
at the time I was only thinking
about how his prostrated body posed
a question I wanted to answer.
Dark star, would I were steadfast as thou art.
Soon heat and friction melted me into rubber,
leaving you, ore, as I had found you,
patient on your journey,
wrapped in folds of his muscle.
You, who knew all along
what the body holds it cannot keep.
Lucas Wildner is a poet, essayist, and teacher in southern King County. His current project examines the relationships between internalized homophobia and white privilege. Recent and forthcoming work lives at Night Music Journal, Honey and Lime, Nice Cage, birds piled loosely, and elsewhere. On Twitter @wucas_lildner
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