I didn’t quite suit him, so my brother
—without a word, as if it were his shirt—
popped my top button. I grabbed him by the
wrists—the same way I do all men hurt
by a need to fix me, sieve out the honey from my blood.
I meant to break him like the sweet promise
I’d make to any lonely man—horny
enough to break to me the same promise.
Do we, in our hold, this hug, this pushing,
not appear as feuding lovers? Brothers,
yes, yes, are nothing but lovers passing
blood back and forth in one fight, another.
He could’ve loved me, so I let him prevail.
Instead, he flicked a piece of me from his nail.
from Fantasia for the Man in BlueFind more by Tommye Blount at the library
Copyright © 2020 Tommye Blount
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.