Poetry + Prose by Hayden Winston
bare bones in the sunlight,
fear was our chariot,
now we’re dripping in hope.
break it down brick by brick,
tears of joy streaming down your face like fresh squeezed juice in the summertime.
bury me 10 feet deep, so I can finally get a good night’s rest when it all ends.
the crowd can carry on and play numb,
but there’s no respite when the morning comes
and morning’s come.
I remember catching glimpses of it growing up,
brazenly displayed on the shelves of little indie book shops –
Butt Magazine,
a title so queer and unapologetic my pulse raced.
the covers graced by models captured raw/hairy/nude and always smiling unabashed.
long before I knew I was their brethren,
they called out to me,
artists, poets, musicians, all queer men.
and now that I have grown
the time has arrived like a rite of passage,
a collection of their greatest hits living on the coffee table,
all my very own.
soft slow kisses
our hands interwined, holding onto the moment our cells meet
skin caressing skin
when those compassionate eyes lock in with mine the tides rise, the sun sets, the city stands still
adventure with you takes form in multitudes
a trek through the wilderness, a trip across the country, an afternoon letting honest lips betray secrets
no mystery in our love, it overflows like the big brass horns on an Ella Fitzgerald tune
arrives warm and sweet like bubble baths and dinner paired with merlot over candlelight at home
in the end it all comes down to this, you’ve enraptured me in with your boundless tenderness
no longer waiting patiently for access,
all dressed up and gunning for it.
no longer craving attention,
all grown up and swimming in it.
years of bruised elbows and broken hearts to transcend to these heights,
bask in the glory of all this self-confidence.
dark skin and deep brown eyes, born in the fire,
quick wit, cold style, let it envelop the world.
kiss him in the streets of San Francisco, in alleways in New Orleans, on the beaches of Florida,
and hold back nothing.
two lessons, trite but true – not a thing can hurt you without your permission, and this life is what you make of it.
get carried off like carrion
arms limp, eyes pried open
gawking at the waning ground
floating free
clouds sliding past your feet
blood still hot and dripping from you
from scene to scene in vivid color
mistakes may appear larger than triumphs in the mirror
try not to be too alarmed
died to feel the burden of someone else’s thoughts,
the heat of passion, the shame of lust
rebelled a thousand times just fall in line, eventually
laughing at all the men you once thought you wanted to be
there are no bright lights here, no angels
only imperfect beings doing their best to survive
seeking refuge
seeking love
seeking meaning
Two steps forward, one step back
paths divide like cells
all we sinners dressed in black
ringing mourning bells
stayed for a minute, in the
soft glow of the light
poised yet full of yearning
passion about you, hot and bright
desires disconcerting
We were two, then one, then two again,
as if we never even started
but that’s the flow of life
here one day, the next – departed.
