Rooftops and roughnecks-
he’s looking at me
with a gaze what lingers longer with every lazy sip.
Black shirts and laughs out loud,
knees rubbing together between jeans.
A bet with myself
to pull the elastic of your boxers back
before the pink bleeds into the navy
of the river waving through the sky.
Shy boys with girl scouts hips,
hot rocks and burnt lips from spliffs
smoked down to the tip.
I hold it between twitching fingers as you-
as you suck it to the nub.
Itching to be licking the salt dried
in the reveries of ass cheeks and crows feet.
In real life I look the way you look in photographs,
atoms sketched as anatomy of boy as tethered task
reached hip flask as 1000 ships sail past the air around my neck
cold, and walking quickens, hoodies up
and head for home.