Three poems



too beautiful

the night color of the grass,
the snot-covered sheen of the moon,
the smear of his own cum on the
sexy young man's bare naked chest,
this is the total image of
sexy naked young man sneaking
off to the back yard in the middle
of night and stripping off his
shorts and t-shirt and lying
there naked on the grass under
the night-time sky, stroking
his big thick long cock
until he spurts his cum
onto his chest and lies there
staring up into the vastness;
it seems an unlikely place
for him to start shedding
tears, but it's not the
only place he's ever cried.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appeared in FRiGG, Winter 2006.)

======================================

captured

the security of my thoughts has been
violated when i spill them onto
this computer screen.
the security of my feelings has
been tampered with when
i express them verbally onto this
softly glowing screen.
all the little glowing dots
of blended light obey me
and display my words just as
i type them, misspellings and
all, which i can fix
easily, at the end, or
during, depending on
when i catch them.
when i dream of beautiful
big-dicked naked young men
standing there spurting their
cum into the wind, i can
write about what i have
dreamed. when i dream
of life calm and tranquil
and gently whiskey-hazy,
i can write about that dream,
too. and when i think
of naked big-dicked sexy
young men huddled alone
in their dim-lit rooms,
watching their dicks expand
to full-on-size and
pre-cum-spurt-readiness,
there's
details that need to
be examined.
feelings that need to be
elaborated upon.
words that need
to be clicked and clacked
onto the white gentle glow
of creeping technology.
violations of the secrets of
the sacred flesh have become
routine. enthusiasm for
the carnal,
however,
remains at its previous and
primitive level
of interest, which
is, er, rather high.
think of
naked men painting
scenes of fucking
on pompeiian walls
before the apocalypse,
dramatic proof.
remember with
affection acts of
lust & the need
to artistically
express them.
thank goodness for thick
plaster, and for good strong
walls.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appeared in FRiGG, Winter 2006.)

=============================

aura

the bag boy is tall skinny sexy
the bag boy has great lips dark eyes
nice smooth slighty-sweaty skin
short severe dark hair
long arms and long legs
and long fingers.
he places all groceries into their bags
gently, carefully; no bags too full;
nothing on top of the bread;
nothing on top of the eggs;
he is always very gentle.
he is always very attentive. he is always very careful.
though none of the customers has ever had sex with
him, and most likely none ever will, they all just quietly know
that
the tall skinny dark-haired bag boy
is great in bed.  they know
he is fantastic having sex. they know
he moans softly and appealingly, almost
apologetically, when he cums, which
is often.
customers, all of them,
gay, straight, male female
bi trans etc., simply sense
these things about him: his
sweet sexual nature, about him there is an
innocent and innate sense of sex; they have never
experienced the deft softness of his tight little
hip-thrusts right before he
spurts his cum; and yet,
customers
simply know what they know.
they go home quietly
and reverently, remembering
that sweet sad-eyed hopelessly
sexual tall skinny
bag boy with the really dark hair.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appeared in Nerve Cowboy, Number 20, Fall 2005.)