twist and shout

the muscles at the back of his neck
were so sexy they were practically like
his genitalia. i watched him
drying off from his shower.
my roommate. a swimmer on
the college swim team.
a sweet sexy guy.
we were both 19.
we were both good-looking,
him better than me, but
still, both.
now, at the age of 58,
looking back, and
back, i understand
that i was gay,
and wanted to be
straight. and that,
nonetheless,
i was in love
with him:
college swim team
swimmer with a great
body and wonderful
smile
and that, he,
no doubt, was straight.
there was nothing
he could do about
being so sexy,
though, nothing
he could do about
my secret lust
for him.
sometimes stuff
happened.  like
when we went camping
together, we rolled
together for warmth
on cold winter nights,
the snow pelting the
outside of the tent,
us huddled together
for comfort,
and warmth, our
voices low and
soft, seduction
could have been
in the air,
sex pumping
heart pumping
his voice deep
my voice not
as deep, together,
our two voices,
a gently throaty
rumble as
the snow fell
and fell
and fell.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011.)