Patrick Norr

Patrick Norr

Virgin devotional love; and the last of the gay American poetry.


Part I

 

I am alone;

yet I am beside you.

 

You lay naked and fast asleep;

my tossing, turning, tyrant

of the sheets.

 

(I have lost

precious inches of the futon,

and now retreat to the floor)

 

 

Somewhere,

a horizon heralds its dawn.

Beams of clarity erode

this stark and foreign night.

Here, bathed in cold moonlight, I survey;

the collection of objects—cluttered physicality—that seek to relay

every treasure of your soul, unto this world

in display.

 

My mind lapses through the windowpane

beyond the whispers and groans, through the twinned trees

and out across the neon bright.

 

There below, sleeping souls wake,

(though dim, yet alight)

amid the eternal silence of their things

find their voices echoing in the night.

Part II

 

Do I wake?

Or do I sleep?

 

I am lost to a seamless dream.

 

Every errand of my mind,

only serves to your grace.

Every passing hour,

I kneel at the altar of your face.

 

I find poetry

edged into your skin.

And in its lines, the splendor of life recurs:

radiating perfection from within.

 

O,

how I ache—as dawn draws near.

 

Soon we will part,

and reason obscure,

what is now so very clear.

 

I draw a deep breath,

as though to last for a year.

 

 

Down, down

Winter’s den.

 

Over the rolling hills, crests and creeks;

golden prairies of dancing grass,

on soft luscious buttocks cheeks.

 

Find, there under the warm of your breath,

the blossoming fruits of Spring.

Primed, ripened and reddened lips:

guarding the harvest within.

 

Stumbling onto hidden coves

of salty, sweaty grit.

Drowning in the rich aroma,

of a humid, Summer pit.

 

(There,

light starts to trickle in…)

 

Through the Autumn hues

of forest paths,

I run from temple, to chin.

Through the nape, I wade

seeking sanctuary within;

 

but as it grows,

so you fade.

 

As though a spell was cast,

and now degrades.

I reach towards our distant laughter;

but in the light,

I find

my memories betrayed.

 

Part III

 

You are awake;

and I am inside you.

 

Thrusting

as hard, and as deep, as I can.

 

As though,

with only my cock

I could bridge this divide.

 

 

Ever harder,

still deeper-

all my efforts seem in vain.

 

When our eyes meet,

there is not love to gain.

Not much more than surrender

finds me there.

 

Living in the Eden of your own beauty.

You simply could not care.

Selfish— as in sleep:

So too I find you in love.

 

Although, I do protest—

I would not dare.

Patrick!

I would drown on your cock

if it could snare.

 

The reins of time,

and hold me there.

 

Lost, in the dream of our love:

Until you find me there.

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