in my childhood bedroom a cavern
of blankets
every quilt patch a window
to a boy i cannot open
my naked body a method
of sanding the stone of fabric
i’ve never found a cicada
in the wild the exoskeleton of solitude
they drape over vibration
do the males know they sing
not to females but to each
other in a hidden promenade
of wood where their plumage rests
secretes a fluid as if to say
i will remain here
in the sweat of my own
pining i attempt to define what i know
of pleasure though i’ve buried
myself in every adjective
of skin o boy sing
our darkness where we cool ourselves
where else can i find you
where else do caves grow
other than the mouth?
By Liam Strong
30 N 