2. Double Embrace

Skin to the back of me,

skin to the fore,

and I’m the center

of a double embrace,

or perhaps that’s not

the precise term,

since no one’s

face to face; we are

three shirtless men

become one

tentative whole,

the thick arms behind me

pressing against my arms,

then reaching forward

to the arms before me,

drawing us tighter together,

heat and slow

uprush of it; no hurry,

the embrace rocking

a bit, a bit of motion

to bind three disparate

bodies into—Look what we can make!

Six arms snaking,

so that the darkened barroom

recedes, and the mirrors,

the pendant lanterns and bluish

video haze. Then the firm hands

kneading my shoulders, hands

over my heart, my hands

on the shoulders in front of me,

those arms reached back toward

the original arms, as though

we were the chain of generation,

each man proceeding from the one

before, and each also reaching

backward, into the body

which had borne him—

The bar’s a cave of minor

miracle played out—

it’s not sex I want, if what sex is

is coming; more than that,

search and pleasure, reading,

divining signals, shift of attention,

flare in my direction, pose,

tattooed arms gleaming, hips

cocked in their particular invitation.

Particular! We’re almost generalized

here, local avatars

of a broader principle,

we are just now representative men

doing the men’s work

—fierce vulnerability—

open and containing, open

and held, the forward momentum

ceased, swaying a little, a few minutes,

before the triangle breaks apart.

belly hard in the small of my back,

kiss to the back of my neck,

and I lean forward to kiss

the neck before me.