What is it about seeing flesh fresh?
The first time lips are parted,
The exploration of hands, fingers, nape of neck,
Eloquence of ears, the physicality of it,
The surge of energy as I remove his belt,
Slowly unbutton his shirt,
Each button a form of

Resistance to be undone—
The revelation of first one
Then a second nipple,
His musk emerging along with hardness,
Memorized so I can practice in my head
For years to come, this excited joy,
This first time of sacred acquaintance,
Alive, moving to an encounter
With the divine.

Why are the eyes of a stranger
The holy testament
Where incarnation feels so
Pure, delight so clean,
So untainted by known qualities?
Why does the sense of
Intimacy with a virgin, naked man
I do not know feel so alluring?

And then I know.  It is the Mystery.
The magnificent mystery of Holy Other,
Found in human form, as yet unknown,
In some ways forever unknown,
Unknowable in hidden depth,
Yet this awareness
Dies with familiarity.  I lose
The experience of his very Being
As I create assumptions that I know him,
Build tensions that are, in essence,
Illusions that hide his magnificence
So clear in the freshness of this Now.
We come to each other as virgins.
I strip myself of pretense, protection,
Obligation, defense and prosecution
So that I touch him unencumbered, free,
Impulsive with laughter, my perspective
Slanted by his prowess, compelling
Eyes to look inside each soul.

I sense this ground so Holy
That I remove my shoes, walk lightly
Into his embrace, driven as if by some
Genetic code, some rhythm
So insatiable, so common, so real
It provides new definition to Reality–
Bare feet dancing,
Delirious and quivering as he kneels,
Worships at the shrine erected just for him,
Moisture rising as he laps, pinkly,
Face turned upward, dreaming
Submission, deliverance, transcendence,
All rolled into one unhurried Passion,
Merciful and slow, setting fire
To the loveable and those seeking
To be lost.