james balwin is lying on his bed.
collar shirt, unbuttoned and stale.
his pale lips, cracked in the Harlem heat
his huge eyes staring upside down
at this lover.
Valentino is 6 feet tall and some change.
He loves James' body but is not in love with him
(although his counterpart pleads for this exchange of emotions).
he will not budge.
he loves his satired life too much.
the two men remember last night in moments.
in the morning, the small details remain.
the blanket on the floor, the pants on the chair
the pillows sunk in
from the head of his lover
the words pressed to the hardwood floor.
and his tie
now in the right hand pocket of
his lover's pants.
"think that he won't love me,
well, i'll take a part of him somehow".
the window is open with the blind half cracked.
it is summer
and it is now afternoon.
the door to his apartment is dirty with regrets
and his room is so full of enemies and strangers.