@ 27.055 MHz: Ad Astra; Sijos On Byeol's E'lation [ /;\ ] [NSFW]

Somewhere in Seoul, in a well appointed apartment, Byeol

stands naked except for his sheer, dark blue socks (these he did not

remove at his boyfriend's request).  He enjoys his body's response


to his boyfriend's efforts to bring about the intimate launch

sequence, the expression between them of male to male love---despite

hardshell prejudices of old prudes' and haters' bullying.


Byeol feels the movement of his core-confected sweet-stuff to launch

position; and then the powerful contractions of muscles at

the prompting of neural signals that require no thought aforehand


and the glistening and fragrant strings are released into the

apartment's airspace and across the polished wood floor.  The atoms

of beautiful, long-haired Byeol were once fused in the cores of stars


gone nova, and then ejaculated into deep outer space

to form Byeol when Love (Who is God)* breathed into him a living

soul, so that Byeol has become those stars first, and best, legacy.



Kyakuchuu

aka

Starward-Led


______________________________________________


*1 John 4:8

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is the kind of poem that I wish had been available to me during the summer and autumn of 1971, the sudden onset of my adolescence.  Prompted by a single paragraph in the Boy Scout Handbook (giving credit where credit it due), and by the "hands on" experience given me by my Beloved Tommy (who was only nine days older than me)---and inspired by the memory of Anthony V (who took his shoes off in fifth period English class---Autumn 1970, seventh grade---and flaunted his dark blue socks beneath the frayed cuffs of his denim bell-bottoms), and by collected pictures of David Cassidy barefoot (culled from pop-culture magazines directed mostly to teenaged girls), I began to enjoy the pleasures my scrawny, awkward body could provide; and when I could share these pleasures intimately with Tommy, I felt accepted and not alone.  But no Poet was available to give me the Cosmic perspective:  Whitman and Cavafy were not even shelved in our branch library.  So this poem is for young men like I was, and is meant to encourage, comfort, and remind them that they are not alone; and maybe even keep just their socks on during naked pleasure

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