for David Paris
The most beautiful boy in the World,
hiding in trees, climbing higher,
as jets burn-out the skies for love.
Resisting cool, against the machine,
gold branches stretch a shade,
making terror points of leaves,
summer clouds rise-up and fade away.
Antinoüs, most fatal boy,
bound in imperial leather,
tilted shoulders, hard chiselled
like a David, copper polished skin,
modest profile painted with light,
pixel millioned, and binary,
to all the corners of the skies.
Antinoüs, impertinent boy, stay.
Sun beating down on your throat,
fingers inundated in my beard.
Swimming in lux, the muddy ripples
of the Nile rise-up to greet you,
grab-you, and sink-you sweetly,
to prolong the rinsing of my years.
Antinoüs, blue drifter, polaroid star,
we each die twice, mortally first,
then from memory, you died once.
What we want in a face, becoming
your face, pale, liquid, and immortal.
Philosophers are all fools in love,
but desire makes gods of us all.
Antinoüs, stretching 2000 thread sails.
Did you know of Cupid’s little trick?
To stick me-up, then shake me down.
Seven years later – I still want to take
you out to dinner, and make love to you.
Seven years later – You could still take
me in to dinner, take me out with love.
Antinoüs. little soul, stray,
whispered: “Will you promise,
that every time you see a river
in flood, you will think of me!?”
Technicolour purples fade.
Villa Imperial, seven winters
drain-out from sepia to grey.
Beautiful boy cracks a cover,
fingering down through rivers,
shop-dark to the window light,
warm winds billow down again,
pages fan open, leaves breathe,
passing lorries, shudder the earth,
Antinoüs. I wish it had not rained.