Two poems

because you can

when you're a hot sexy boy
you can go out walking naked in the snow
you can find a secluded spot in the hills
at the edge of the woods and you can
take off all your clothes
and hang them from a tree branch and then you
can walk naked for a while
you are so hot you don't feel
crimped by the cold
you are so hot and sexy and good-looking
and smooth-bellied wide-shouldered tiny-nippled
full-lipped big-dicked
with tight muscular mounds for your buttocks
that you are practically steaming.
you are a hot naked boy walking naked
through the snow at the edge of the woods.
when the snow begins falling again,
it falls gently, slowly, in big smooth
flakes, and you walk on, yes you are barefoot, too--
yes you are hot and you are totally naked --
and you walk through the snow, it is up just
past your ankles, maybe 7 or 8 inches deep,
you can feel the heat radiating from
every single smooth healthy square inch of your hot skin
you are a hot boy
you are such a hot
boy your dick is hard and sticking out
in front of you
and as you walk along, you wrap your fingers
around your hard thick dick with
its big smooth purple-pink dickhead and you
stroke your big dick gently up
and down with your hot fingers on your hot
steaming hot dick
and the snow falls gently
as you spurt your cum in big white arcs
that actually resemble plumes
that go from the tip of the big hot purple dickhead of your
big smooth dick
and land with the tiniest of splat sounds
and dig themselves
into the smoothness of the snow
that lies everywhere
on the ground.
then you walk back to the tree that
your clothes are hanging from
and you put on your clothes
and any tiny little chill that you
may have been beginning to experience
is gone
as you walk home
basking in
the pure sexy thrill
of being a hot sexy boy
who walked naked alone
and spurted his cum
into the smooth white snow.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2004)

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details details

lick the salt off the saltines
wipe the sugar off the sugar cookies
wash the pepper off the pepper-steak

take it plain
take it unadorned
take it unheated, without the ice cream

bare bones
naked
nude

greg  the gymnast who lives next door
wears clothes
unless he stands in front of his
bedroom window
naked as the purple head of his
big stiff cock

he suspects I can see him from my
own bedroom window
I suspect

he closes the blinds tho
just before he gets really
involved in touching himself
all over
but I get to see the nipple-action
belly-button prodding

then he closes the blinds
a mona lisa grin on
his great-looking lips,
+ he finishes whatever he's doing to
himself in there

lick the salt off the saltines
wipe the sugar off the sugar cookies
bay at the moon

has anyone ever died from longing

a knock on his door
would help  perhaps
he's just waiting for my
knock

lick the wall
lick off the paint
lick off the plaster

another long night for me in store it seems

another saltine
without the salt
another sugar cookie without the sugar

the sound of knock knock knock
on his door
without the knock knock knock

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem appeared in Slipstream, issue #14, 1994. It also appears in my book Shy Boys at Home, published by Chiron Review Press in 1999.)