We hide secrets in the crisscross of our palms
And watch our lives become headless soldiers hugging a minaret
Today might not be when you’d die
Your death is only the beginning of a sad song buried under the wings of a humming bird
And then you wonder why we give ourselves to worship
At the path where desire meets sorrow at the squelching sound of a thigh
And when I’m born again
Of fire and sadness from the ribcage of a burning sea
Remember that secrets do not become flesh on the skin of vagrant men
– It is the earth that hastens their feet towards the sun dipped in gold.
The first time you kissed a broken boy,
Grew wings beneath your chest
And took flight.
You experienced the emergency of molting,
Sunlight caught your wings in ripples of fire.
Fire that quivered from your lips in sycophancy of undulating bodies.
You become free.
Because from where you come,
Boys do not become lovers of themselves and live.
Poems © Elias Andrevn
Image: Pixabay.com remixed