At Pegasus
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by Terrance Hayes They are like those crazy women who tore Orpheus when he refused to sing， these men grinding in the strobe & black lights of Pegasus. All shadow & sound. "I'm just here for the music，" I tell the man who asks me to the floor. But I have held a boy on my back before. Curtis & I used to leap barefoot into the creek； dance among maggots & piss， beer bottles & tadpoles slippery as sperm； we used to pull off our shirts， & slap music into our skin. He wouldn't know me now at the edge of these lovers' gyre， glitter & steam， fire， bodies blurred sexless by the music's spinning light. A young man slips his thumb into the mouth of an old one， & I am not that far away. The whole scene raw & delicate as Curtis's foot gashed on a sunken bottle shard. They press hip to hip， each breathless as a boy carrying a friend on his back. The foot swelling green as the sewage in that creek. We never went back. But I remember his weight better than I remember my first kiss. These men know something I used to know. How could I not find them beautiful， the way they dive & spill into each other， the way the dance floor takes them， wet & holy in its mouth. |
