By Shane Allison
A summer Saturday night at 926 Bar & Grill was the first night I laid eyes on you.
I was sipping a whiskey sour
As you sat there bald and baby-faced watching Futurama on the HD TV
That hung above Hillary’s big hair & even bigger tits.
The edge of your moustache baptized in dark beer,
Cherry red lips kissing the glass.
You’re the laid back type unlike the boys
I’m used to, who prance about in search of toxic masculinity.
Lawrence, who is much older than you was on the hunt for young twink meat,
Looking as if you’re something good to eat.
He made advances, but you’re immune to the stink of his romance.
I watched his ways, left with the lesson
That his approach is not the way to penetrate your armor.
I was five whiskey sours in, faded,
And the size of your dick has never entered my mind.
Only thoughts of kissing you in this sanctuary,
Caressing that creamy Irish skin.
I don’t come on strong.
I take it easy with you, Ethan.
You feel easy around me.
We talked of cell phones,
The lifespan of laptops until you walk away bored and beer-filled,
Into a haze of absolution.
Artwork by Shane Allison