Jack

I. A hawk flies in Brooklyn Flying outside your white window Behind brownstones and branches A man and a boy nearly collide On their bicycles I lay in white sheets, in a white room on Tan skin You touch my brow And my lashes With your lanky, brown fingers I look down Plaid boxers fall to your ankles Big feet, white socks poke through II. His head bobs back He lays on pale leather Chin up - small garden sprouting He lifts his arms, flexes Pressed them behind his head The smell of last night's smoke Permeates the halls Three bushes, black and unkempt Litter his body, though he cannot grow much else Lips like bubblegum Tongue like taffy My hands smell like him Clean, like shampoo Black hair like wool Black eyes like a calf We wrestle in bed He litters his bronze belly With sweet drops of salt III. I have the same name as your brother You have a twin sister Is that all we have in common? Still, I want to sweat out this heat Melt into your sheets Fold into your lanky arms Meld into Your soft skin - Into your devilishly black eyes "Jack", I mumble on the way out I don't think I've said your name yet