he died in venice (rewrite)

he died in venice

the obituary said
an overdose at the age of 40

he died in venice

and all the critics said
he had written some imaginative poetry

they could not have been speaking of these images

a smooth muscled body
hair dyed blond
unconscious in the shower

the ripped pages of a cum stained copy of Thomas Mann's Death in Venice

a cold hand clutching his final words
trying to thrust them far from his dying body

maybe hoping

that his final scratches would not be obliterated by the blood

he died in venice

in some city he grew up
fought with friends and parents
in some city or another
he made love and had sex with men and women
he took classes and jobs of little or no interest
in one place or another
he read books and wrote poetry

but he died in venice

he put all his notes in the corner
and his lover in the shower
but he couldn't keep the blood from staining the covers
and drying on the erection of his undressed body

an infinite caress

an infinite caress
a caress which never ends
and has no beginning

flowing from one body to another
over one shoulder blade
then down the rhythmic spine

over hard barrel of hairy belly
past sweet skin of perfect ass
the bones of pelvis jutting out and asking to be touched

caressing myself and others

this hand of mine which finds no end to all the flesh beneath it
running over all the limbs of every body
touching all the faces
circling all the eyes within its grasp

amongst this multitude of breasts and legs and dicks
with neverending plain of skin stretching out
I search

a nook of muscle
a nest of hair
the duvet of her sex against my cheek
the weight of his head resting in the valley above my rounded ass

i would hug myself but there is one arm too many
one hand ill at ease
one glance which has not found its home