At Home in His Skin

Today I worked on two poems that I dispelled about a month ago when I reconnected to and broke down over my strong attraction and love for men and/or masculinity. This one is about a man I liked.

At Home in His Skin

The psychic memory
Of precious moments
Flood into the conscious mind,
Shock and joy raining down on
Every nerve.
Negated emotions
Rise to the surface
And I can see him again.

Body radiating an
Inner twilight glow
As his dark, tender skin
Shines and pulses;
Standing with his
Curved back facing my eyes,
He owns a confidence
That’s simultaneously
Ignorant to my fascination and
Unaware to my eyes tracing
The slim shadows running
Across his lower back
Then moving into the arms,
Chest, and stomach
As he turns around
With a physical prowess
That brings me peace of mind
For he remains gentle in his strength.

I am consumed
By his body,
But even more
By his soul.
The first to show me
What it means
To feel safe and
At home in one’s skin.
Then, an impossible dream.
Now, a journey to mars.

Losing myself
In this favorite memory
I repeatedly ask:

What’s the difference
Between envy and desire?

No enlightened answer
Escapes my lips. But I must ask,
Does love require just one?