other loves
Performed at 'Other Loves: Celebrating Queer Artists' by Voices Breaking Boundaries
Documented by Jennifer Tyburczy. Houston, Tx . 06.05.2011
Dedicated to Loves not meant to be.
Christian:
When I saw him for the first time in his underwear,
I thought of falling in love,
and now he is covered in mud.
He awakened a feeling which I ignored lived in me.
Then I thought I heard a door slamming,
or my head banging against a wall,
and now he is covered in blood.
And I am afraid of admitting that I am afraid.
Milan:
This one I caught in the field,
he drank a different type of milk,
his body hair like threads of gold,
in the crevices of my teeth got caught.
His blood was a mild sauce,
his meat a tender as an infant's,
I cut into chunks and ate raw....
and now I am sickened.
Steve:
Away from his heat
my soul breaks into fragments,
away from his fragile kiss,
his skin, rough, juicy, delightful,
sliding slowly like sperm from a tense nerve.
Coming from him even pain would be enjoyable,
the punch of his fist would please me.
But his love is a campfire,
it would entirely consume the forest I am.
Documented by Jennifer Tyburczy. Houston, Tx . 06.05.2011
Dedicated to Loves not meant to be.
Christian:
When I saw him for the first time in his underwear,
I thought of falling in love,
and now he is covered in mud.
He awakened a feeling which I ignored lived in me.
Then I thought I heard a door slamming,
or my head banging against a wall,
and now he is covered in blood.
And I am afraid of admitting that I am afraid.
Milan:
This one I caught in the field,
he drank a different type of milk,
his body hair like threads of gold,
in the crevices of my teeth got caught.
His blood was a mild sauce,
his meat a tender as an infant's,
I cut into chunks and ate raw....
and now I am sickened.
Steve:
Away from his heat
my soul breaks into fragments,
away from his fragile kiss,
his skin, rough, juicy, delightful,
sliding slowly like sperm from a tense nerve.
Coming from him even pain would be enjoyable,
the punch of his fist would please me.
But his love is a campfire,
it would entirely consume the forest I am.
Photography by Burnell McCray