tra la la

the circumstances under which i am in
bed with jamie bell are mysterious,
but, there we are, both naked,
and in bed together.
jamie bell is 26 years old now, and quite
sexy. i love his movies "billy elliot"
and "the chumscrubber" and "mr foe"
and "the eagle".  he is incredibly
sexy. jamie bell is lying on
his belly talking to me about
my poems. he likes my poems.
i'm surprised to learn that
he has been aware of
me, and my poems, and has
been reading my poems, for
over the past 10 years or
so. they turn him on.
he likes them a lot. he
tells me these things. i like
his movies. they turn me on.
i like them a lot. i tell
him these things. he smiles
demurely, pushes the
covers off of himself,
and lies there with
his smooth sexy butt
exposed. he kind of
wriggles it.
i smear a little
aveeno body lotion
onto my cock.
i climb on top of
him and push my
cock between his butt
cheeks, oh so muscular,
oh so smooth. i don't
push my cock into his
anus, i just move
it back and forth
in the tight space
between his two hot
moist butt
cheeks. he seems to
enjoy this activity
quite a lot, and,
when i spurt cum
onto his back, i notice
that he's spurting cum
onto the sheet beneath him.
we get out of bed,
i wipe off his back
with a soft towel,
and then i sniff the
spot of cum he left
on the sheet. smells
warm and musky, and
really quite good.
"would you like to
take a shower with me?"
he asks.
"duh," i say.
we stand in the shower,
soaping each other up,
talking poetry, talking
movies, talking
the life of
talk, the mysteriosity
of athletics, screwed
into the milkshake that
is the state of the universe,
chocolate, and vanilla,
and, the most elusive of them
all: the smooth and
delectable,
raspberry cream.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem "tra la la" also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)