To the Bone

by David Dooley

Remembering that he himself was the one who
wanted it first, who made the first move
and found his desires returned
at about the right level, neither of them
expecting too much or wanting to see
each other too often, so that without having
to say anything irrevocable, they
backed their way toward each other
until, offering his friend comfort after
the death of his best friend, they learned
how in the depths they were already joined.
Which meant an end to some of the need
for courtship. Differences of temperament,
taste, and housekeeping counting for less.
The two of them becoming something public
which worked. In bed they could no longer
retreat to newness or mere skill; his lover
would hold him and look into his eyes
as if stripped beyond fantasy
were the way he wanted him.
As if the promised land glimpsed from the crest
were someplace they could actually live.
Swim naked in the pond. Fashion a dwelling
under olives and cypresses. Night after
night turn to each other on the pallet.
Each day his growing horror of the closeness.

David Dooley lives in San Diego. His third collection, The Zen Garden, will be published next year by WordTech Editions (Cincinnait). E-mail: ddooley@sheppardmullin.com