Sprawled on the grass beside his bike
in Sempione Park on a warm spring day,
nearly naked, just short shorts and sneakers,
dark-haired and fit, with smooth, hairless
chest and slightly hairy legs, he stretches,
adjusts the position of his right arm,
with which he has been shielding his face,
pats his lean abs with his left hand,
then shifts again and slides both hands
over his torso, now glistening with sweat.
At this point, were he in a porn film,
one hand would drift into his shorts,
and a handsome stranger would suddenly
emerge from the bushes, and after
a bit of carefully orchestrated foreplay,
do him hot and heavy on the bicycle,
but this is reality, so he just writhes
a bit in the warmth, not that I’m watching.
Copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper