• Ryan Oliveira


His name is Adam - I know because he told me.

Wordless on the stairs; I know, crazy,

But we don’t need words – not anymore.

We only needed flashes, rubies

Like Carrie speaking fury into poltergeist,

The likes reality does not dare admit,

But Adam really did.

I know Adam from his olive skin,

My height, my hair, my kin.

We’ve seen our sins before, I know.

Before, it was a bed of roses; now,

The ivory stairs inside some silo,

Decorated checkerboard floor and

Pecker-decked wall and

Stones slate against Adam’s white tank.

I know because it’s summer and under

His breezed-out sleeves were khaki shorts,

Crimped within inches of his unmentionables –

The thighs, I mean – the thighs thick

To make diamonds out of dice.

And I rolled to meet him in the middle.

White tank, olive skin, khaki shorts,

Combined against conglomerate,

On him I met in cold stone,

Now warm sweat, sweet swing,

Tongue, swish, swivel, spin,

Pinball against walls, waltzing past windows,

Suddenly onto bedposts, bedsheets,

Put me to bed, Adam,

Adam like inside me,

Adam like insomnia,

Adam like the Gabapentin I reach for,

Adam like it doesn’t work fast enough,

Adam like I can’t disturb my partner,

Adam like I bolt for the bathroom,

Adam like I’ve never done this before,

Adam like the bathtub ivory,

Adam like the sandstones singing,

Adam like the screams and moans,

Adam like I picture you,

Adam like I paint you,

Adam like I press you,

Adam I press onto you,

Adam I press into you,

Adam I press on,

Adam I press, I press,

I know, I promise -


I cannot keep it.

Adam is no longer. I know.

And knowing now, I sleep.

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Ryan Oliveira

Ideas.  I'm full of them.

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