never the two shall part

waldorf salad and the greatness of apples.
the aroma of
fresh blueberry muffins. a tiny droplet
of blood on the tip of a finger, poked
with a raspberry thorn.
**
he sat alone in his room,
listing the things that
had made him cry.
he was 26 years old today,
no plans, sexy, naked,
tall, blond, blue-eyed:
why should there be no
plans for a guy like him?
what was wrong with him,
fundamentally?
**
he clomped around
in the empty gymnasium,
waiting for someone
who never showed up.
**
the way sexy naked young men
frolicked in
the mountain stream: the
easy laughter, the
smirks of joy.
**
he'd been one
of those sexy naked
stream-frolicking young
men, once.
**
now,
he notices the
veins on the back
of his hands,
the soft hairs
behind his knuckles.
**
running naked
through the forest
at midnight, he
falls in love
with the fur
on the back
of an oak tree.
**
they embrace: it is
an art,
not a science.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appeared in Whisper & Scream Magazine, Vol 1, issue 3, July 1, 2010.)