The light dipped behind the acacia tree.
This was the beginning of triumph. We thought.
Until the cicadas so I couldn’t hear him.
His possible many declarations of love.
He wore very little: loose tank-top dangling
To reveal his chest. Sounds of my heart.
How we forfeit against each other’s limbs.
He wanted to say that’s how we music.
And I thought dance. I thought death
From the desert heat. He is all I have.
The cicadas still roaring inside the acacia.
So the sun stampedes out of existence.
I explain it’s a grace. This living another day.
Click here to read Anthony Aguero on the origin of the poem.
Image: “white acacias” by Rae Allen, licensed under CC 2.0.
Anthony Aguero is a queer writer in Los Angeles, CA. His work has appeared, or will appear, in Carve Magazine, Rhino Poetry, 14 Poems, Redivider Journal, Maudlin House, and others. He has received two Pushcart Prize nominations and has his first forthcoming collection of poetry, Burnt Spoon Burnt Honey, with Flower Song Press.