As Yet Unseen

As yet unseen,
Your nectar kiss
Floats an evening breeze by my nest.
Couples, male to male,
Womyn to womyn,
Stroll hand in hand beside the rest of the world as equals.
Each geranium to its pot -
Each portico to its arch -
This universe is fashioned in ways
We see only here.
Does it fly in the face of all value;
Or spoil the cosmic cream?
It is harmless love here -
Censured love here;
The balm and nectar kiss from your haven
Floating in the evening breeze
Over the gentle rolling sea.

Now that I Know You

Now that I know you,
Bright darkness, dark brightness, I walk on the high ground,
The one overlooking another self,
And call that self upward,
To get down to the business in hand;
Dark brightness, bright darkness.
The tranquility in your blaring streets after dark
Where the men stroll to their bedsheets, or their wind covering,
Has planted me on the low ground,
Where love grows in the hollyhocks.
And I call to another self to get down to the business in mouth,
Bright brightness, dark darkness,
Now, that I know you.

Friends Like These

for Tony and John

Friends like these -
Once, like a comet
Passing the eye at twilight
Leaving a trail
Never captured,
And only once
Rippled by me,
Rolling the tide softly over the soul.
Then, like falling stars
We move our separate ways -
Patterns clever; patterns fine -
Patterns telling the world that we are who we are,
Each to our own orbit,
But that once,
We were like comets.

The Spiritus

When the night grows old
And its time for sleep
We know the morning's young
And we should not sleep alone -
So, we wait until the clock strikes one
And we gather in the market square,
The square to look and find, perhaps
The one to ward off sleep.

Pizza serving everywhere,
But in the air the smell of men,
Some in leather, some in femme -
Others just to stare and gawk,
To dish and fray the night away -
Twosomes would be threesomes if the right one came along
To share the sleepless song.

So, on the block we go,
As we rove the crowds and watch -
And wait and speak maybe,
Then feel maybe;
Then off to the comfort of a touch maybe -
Far from the din of the crowd's effects -
This one-in-the-morning market of sex

Green Shorts

Green shorts -
He wore green shorts -
And I knew at once he was the evening's delight,
The soft sea breeze.
Together we played the eye-game.
First he watched;
Then, I;
And everyone else faded
As we together played the eye-game.
But, we also shared a shyness
Like pipers in the sand -
First to one dune, then another
Spotting each other, close and far
Then, we paused at arms length.
I stared into his eyes
And, with a laugh, we both smiled
Trying to control a swelling down under -
But, we shared a shyness,
So, no word was spoke'.
Then, after a time,
He flew like the sandpiper out to sea,
Beyond the eye-game.
But no matter -
For I shall never forget this guy in green shorts
For together we shared
A shyness.

Roberta

Morning greets her with a thousand calls for coffee,
For menus and some juice -
It happens in a thousand places much like this,
And set-ups and service come down the pike
With a fair bit of toast and a good many broken shells -
But, she stops and wants to know
Your spirit, your plans on hand
And makes you forget that you just stopped in for a short stack.
The town, she can tell you -
News, she knows it -
Life, she can discuss it with the best.
And so, we come to her each morning
Like sons leaving home for war,
Knowing that no where can you get coffee like this;
For with Roberta, it's more than coffee.
It's a stitch in the fabric she weaves.

Simplicity

I marvel at the flowing stream of people,
Like the sea rolling and washing the shore with its plain motif,
Exciting, yet so in place, like all things common to each other in nature.
Simplicity itself, as natural as sun on breakers,
We hold hands before for all the world to see.

And what does the world say -
These men hold hands, not as they should in a firm business hand shake,
But as sissies would,
And I bet they sleep together too!
And it is distressing to try to like a person knowing that the same mouth which smiles and trucks out speech
Also wraps itself around who knows what, who knows where?
Distracting from the plain of simplicity -
Unnatural, painful, distressing, god-awful,
And I, the world, make this thing complex,
Mating betwixt the sick, the same sex.

But here, before the sea, before these Cape Codders,
Life is simple - birth, growth and death,
And we to this shoreline draw in a fresh breath,
For never will I deny your sweet love -
Not for herrings, nor for sea-gulls,
Not for all the above.

Gay Town Glitters

Gay town glitters,
Fags in white satin -
Dancers in the street,
Masks and feathers and mystery.
Drums beat and horns play.
Floats push by in bright purple,
And the hoo hoo's just love to dress in white satin.

We shout from the balcony and dance our own dance;
Dressed in old denim, we shower the dancers -
For this is our spirit,
Showing our passions
Not caring who sees us,
Who needs those who bleed us.

Be it here or in breed-land,
We still dance inside us,
Masked in the feathers of mystery.

At the Backstreet

Hear it in the distance,
The soft thunder of the night dancers,
Dark beneath the earth
Where midnight flashes beat to the rhythms of sex.
The air is filled with the smell of men,
Not heaven sent, but all coming to a destined spot
To see who they can do.

Ah! Hear it as we get closer,
The beckon of the music,
The night air swelling chests and loins.
All together now, take the aroma to heart
As men seek men in the silent thunder
Dark beneath the earth.

Hear it all around us as it swirls its perfumed smoke
And in the corners we lurk
Swaying our hips to all seekers -
Be me tonight, oh sweet honeysuckle chest;
The sweet smell of men
Coming to terms in the soft thunder.

Night Tribute

How many lovers kiss while I lay awake, alone -
I wonder -
And I think of them as they work their hands about thighs and erections;
Hands that please and give the great gift,
The probing of fingers in the secret places,
The honey combs;
And tongues that caress from lip to chest.
Fires burn below, cooled by lips more heating.
Arching to old earth mother as how many lovers are joined together,
Thrusting hard or soft as is their pleasure,
While I lay awake, alone,
Churning fresh cream to their tribute.

Auto Erotic

No luck at the bars - yet, restless at night,
Cannot fight urges -
Books - No delight!
So to the street I must go!
Street that was brimming, now is forbidding -
Last drunks are swaying,
Calling their nonsense to empty pavilions
And I to their vision come pacing on cat-paws,
Taking their nonsense to naught.

A sound in the alley, tells me there's rescue
From my frustration,
From my deep urges and I stalk near the sound
And I see in the shadows,
A wanter, a waiter, a wonderful satyr,
To have and to take in the darkness of night.

But as we draw closer, I think of the nonsense
Spewed by the drunken,
And fantasy, ecstasy, dreamlike embellish,
Tells me I'm as drunk as the worst of the lot.

So I go to sheets of my own urge controlling,
Out of the darkness and back to the light.
Sober, yet hungry, I seek my own council,
Safe under bedsheets with the books of delight!

Double Flute Serenade

The wind is in his hair
As he shops and stops and stares.
Quiet, he does not know that I see him -
But I do;
And although he's busy observing things,
I can see him in my night chamber,
Stripped in the flickering candlelight,
As I ply my fingers down his chest
And reach and caress the kingdom.
His eyes close in passion
As I kiss his lips and play my songs around his waist;

Then, like potter's hands mine,
Opening an opening for me alone.

Double flute serenade this,
As I to him and he to me
Gently play our melodies
Up and down the instruments we rove often.
Sometimes I stop -
Sometimes, he; but when we do, we do to sing a love song.
Into the rolling, thunderous waves,
We arch to a greater tune,
And a greater blessing comes
Until the candles burn low,
And we drift to sleep's sea in each other's arms -

So, let him shop, this love of mine;
Let him wander from sale to sale -
But, tonight before the evening shadow's fade
We will play our double flute serenade.

At the Boatslip

Come to the T dance,
Come one and all,
Mecca for men, a marketing delight -
Here with tight shorts and T shirts or none,
The boyz come to shop, come to look, come to sun -
The men frot their shorts `til the tips start to cum;
And we laugh at us, laugh with us, drink `til we drop,
And dance to the latest rhythms non-stop!

But my eyes rove to the floor of the hop,
Tight buns moving near, firm pecs within touch,
Sweet sweat and aroma play music for me,
And the grind from the groin,
And the line to go pee.

They say sex and music are fair friends and free;
Add scent to this picture and also add me -
And they say at this dance there is plenty of T -
Well, this is one boatload we'll not dump to sea.

Away from the breeders,
Away from the hedgehogs -
Here at the boatslip, slip away with me -
Dance `til your tits drop,
Dance `til your pants drop,
Steal away to corner while I drop to my knee,
Now that's the T-Dance of T-Dances for me!

Morning at P-Town

It's morning and the hoo hoo's are happy.
The queens at the Wind Surfer come on the deck for their coffee -
I open the blinds and stretch on the porch -
Already the streets are filled with lovers,
And breeder tourists come to gawk at the faggots;
The beer truck is delivering to the restaurant next door,
While Doug, the stylist smokes a cigarette
Waiting for the first client of the day.
Cruisers watch cyclists.
Bare chested men with pecs like granite
Begin their beauty pageant,
Striking poses,
While the lovers comment on how they'd like to haul in a few before nightfall.
All the while, the queens at the Wind Surfer dish the morning away, from their roost,
Sipping coffee and cruising.
It's morning and the hoo hoo's are happy.

At theAtlantic House

Move to the shadows while I hold you in my arms,
No one can see, nor care,
If I play with you.
Reach on behind me, between me and thee shall be,
And hear the music of the spheres,
Zippers singing their gay song.

And passion over comes us,
As we move still darker still,
And we manage to do each other
Without showing what we will
Except the eyes a-rollin' back,
And heads roll further still,
As we play the bar's best melody,
The zipper sound quadrille.

Feel me heavy, rub me firm,
And on my lap you squirm,
Oh yes, I do - I'll rip you through,
And into the corner we spill.
Crotch to crotch we dance -
And I to your beltline go -
To hear a little better,
The zipper's sound, you know.

Love settles firm upon the tongue,
As we speak in willing rhythms,
A throated song will come,
And when those eyes a-rolling back,
You'll ruin my party shirt,
But that will teach me to kiss your belt
And with your zipper flirt.

The Fairies of Change

Discouraged by the body awful,
I sit and doubt that I can ever be free -
Free from a form which stalks me, specter-like until I the specter be.
My gait is plump -
My basket small -
And in the autumn of life, distress is all for me;
But, then, the fairies of change sweep by.
They tell me to rise up and wash up and dress up!
To be the me I really am;
And I remember the sinew of life for me -
To be gay and proud,
To live in the sunshine,
To revel in the darkness -
And to set me apart from shortcoming.

So, now I have a body slender;
My gait is spry -
My basket more fruitful -
And summer after summer is in my range,
Thanks to some effort
And the fairies of change.

Boyz at the Beach

The boyz are on the beach now,
Best time to go -
They sift about the dunes like cranes
And search for a perfect spot -
The best spot for catching rays, stray glances and some hand.
Lovers rub each other with lotion,
A beach in motion,
As each enjoys the tenderness the other has and gives;

Volleyball, near naked -
Very tan.
And I notice in their ranks
A whole beach in motion.
They tense and pump,
And fall and touch -
Laughter, with some drink -
And all know all too well
The tone of volleyball smell.

A couple comes, strolling near the strand;
He's a bit thin, but the other will command
The attention of the entire throng -
He's wearing a thong.
As they pass, the boyz sit up,
Heads turn - Visors down - Glasses up,
More than glasses up.
You could hear a clam's cough in the silence
As even the volleyball stops commotion.
But, like all things that pass,
They will pass again,
So the queens lay down,
And the lotion comes -
And the boyz at the beach are in motion.

Flying Kites

The wind plays on the kite strings,
As the boyz play in the dunes,
Running and laughing without a care,
They find their strings tangled,
But it's fun to untangle, with a tingle and a hug,
They lift those kites up.

And with care and devotion, the wind comes
Not to destroys us,
But to remind us
That harnessing power can lift us or break us,
So, with the wind comes our love.

High the kites whistle,
Two kites on two merits,
Yet, when the wind wants,
One kite they become -
And then the strings tangle
Only untangled by two lovers hugging in a windless dune.

What Do the High Grasses Say

What do the high grasses say?
What have they seen now and yesterday?
Their bobbing heads have seen the bobbing,
And the secret passion of the world of men.
The sands have puckered a thousand groins.
The pipers have peaked at a myriad of muscle,
Pumped and suckered `til the end of time.

Here in the dunes, we settle our differences,
For we are different in soul; but never in parts.
And we stroke to the sea songs; and we are explorers,
Tongues in cheek and lips and ears,
Mouthfuls of bliss, sea spume and salt,
Fitting ourselves into the world we know,
Because we are the same in parts.

Here, in the crevices, we know what to do,
And unlike those who are different in parts,
Who have no notion but a guess or a book chapter
On how to give pleasure to different parts,
We know - and devote ourselves to a lifelong study on the dunes without a reference,
Without a cue from some fucking moralist who knows what's best for what parts and when!!
Men on men, in men, about men - know men!
For although different in soul - we are the same in parts,
And the long, short or the thick of it,
We are no strangers down in the crevice.

So, what do the tall weeds say as they sway,
Not by the wind, but by these explorers.
Well, what can they say - these grassy darts -
They are different in both soul and parts.

Wind Trick

Sleep would not come,
Nor the other,
So, I got up from my bed in the dead of night
And went to the porch as naked as my soul
To feel the night wind on my balls.
And as I sat with my feet in the air,
Knowing I could be spied,
Suddenly, I knew the first day,
The world fresh and new,
The one Adam knew -
Exploring the cool evening air,
So hard did I grow,
That if a lover's lips were so disposed
He could not get me harder.
Lover breeze, please me through,
And play in the cavern's hair.
Although you need no help
I, still with gentle night motion,
Stroke wand and shaft until the moon beams fall,
Leaving me coated in honey -
Sweet honey.

So, alone in the night in the darkness,
I join to thee sweet evening breeze
And retire refreshed from the solemn trick.
Filled with Adam's knowing -
Still hard as a brick.

Kisses at Dawn

Glistening at dawn, the sea - his wonder,
Kisses the shore like a faithful lover;
The birds know his wonder,
And plunder the surface for shimmering cod;
And the crabs know his wonder,
Clammering up the strand in the quiet morning air.
Even the sun knows his wonder,
Playing the waves like a fine flute,
Sparkling to ear and eye for those who should chance upon his wonder.

Along the crest of the sea,
The boats bob,
Like toys in a tub -
His tub wreathed in foam.
And it comes to me that I am watching and hearing
Like I have never sensed before -
And I am chilled,
My shoulders rising to catch the new sense -
Even the sun cannot revive me,
Not the gulls with their monotonous call -
Nor the sand crabs and their regal entourage.
Only his wonder calls me back to mortal plains,
This sea caressing me like a faithful lover,
Glistening in the dawn's new day.

This Old Victorian Porch

This old Victorian porch, draped with fuschia plants,
Is our shelter from the hot sun,
But not alone are we.
For old Charlotte stretches out to dry from his morning swim,
Ancient, he's been lugging off this porch for years,
Limping on his old hind legs to splash the seabirds aside.
As he dries, his aroma mixes with the fuschia scent.

What a lazy, dog's day scene is this.
Hard to image that last night on this porch,
Men were bargaining for tricks,
And lively conversation went apace here,
As hands groped in the darkness cloaked by all those fuschia pots.
Passers waved and gave their evening greeting to lovers
Perched on each others laps,
Smiling widely as their hands groped.

Hard to imagine, I stood for hours
Like a fuschia decoration
In the darkness watching lovers
Manipulate each other as I sought my own free agent
Beneath lose shorts and jockeys,
Hoping that these lovers never moved from this evening spot.

But now, at noon, it's the dog's time,
Sleeping with an occasional flutter,
But tonight will bring those lovers
And perhaps an eye from the gutter.

At the East End

After dinner we walk to the East End,
Where the houses are quaint and very gay.
Rainbow flags flutter in the wind,
And the cottages are wreathed with Summer flowers.

And as we walk we talk,
Of this and that, important things,
Like checkbooks and recipes,
And so-and-so said this, and did-you-see whatever,
And the movies of childhood,
And sisters and mothers,
And coming out and heritage,
And tricks in the navy yard,
And naked men dancing on bars in DC,
And all the things we are and will be,
And last year's hotel and next year's hotel,
And finally a word on the panorama of the sea,
Which finally overcomes us three,
Friends who know we are family,
Who know little else but each other,
And of walking and talking `til time's tide ebbs.

Stefania

From a faded photograph,
She plies her art and craft;
White space will soon be decked with earth tones,
Pastels which come to life
As if, life itself can be contained
In white space.

And we watch her as she draws,
Knowing each stroke, each blend, each contour of her craft,
And lifts this craft beyond the pale of blacksmithing; or basket weaving.
Modeling each motion and knowing every hair,
She creates an image striking,
Much above the faded image she reflects on.

We smile, as she has caught it.
She smiles, because she loves to please -
For art is nothing more than an outward smile from an inner sense;
And she, for this time's instance,
Has joined with an old photograph -
Lens to lens, transforming white space into a work of art.
Release! Voila! And on the wall will hang
An image and her smile!

I Gently Draw the Blinds

I gently draw the blinds
And the sun plays on the bed where my lover still sleeps;
The light fans his naked chest -
His wondrous thighs,
And I am lost to thinking.

How have we come so far?
Despite a world of hate and fear,
We managed to share our kingdoms,
With a good deal of struggle
As kingdoms will
Fight for their sovereignty to the end.

But now, in the morning breeze,
He turns his ass in the sunlight
And no matter the struggle,
No matter the siege -
He has my heart and my kingdom's soul,
And I return to that ass in the sunlight.

Piña Coladas

I raise my glass to friendship!
That is the first glass I raise;
And although the drink goes to my head,
I nonetheless hold on to my senses.
But, while I listen to the stories by friends,
I sure hope the dinner will come soon,
To bring my head downward to earth.

The second glass goes to deep subjects.
For as we proceed,
We say things we need only to voice at this junction;
We pledge closer friendship, our family-style state,
And we say, what a good time we're having -
But, dinner is gone and we're starving.

The third is a dangerous brew.
Now we pledge love through and through -
We talk about farts and large body parts
And who on the street we would do.

The fourth drink's a bit much for all as we fall.
The bathroom get's further away.
We laugh at all jokes,
And we wonder what folks
Think about three drunken gays.

The fifth is the deadliest cut;
Now words do not matter,
As we spit and and we splatter,
Until the bill comes -
And then, we just pay it;
And we through the door sway it,
And manage to get through with our thumbs.

But here's the conspiracy on the night air.
It mixes with gin and spins our despair;
We hold on to poles,
Ourselves and our souls,
And wake up, God knows where.

Nonetheless, I raise up this glass,
To friends who land on their ass.
To lovers I say,
Be truly Gay,
Some dinner, some liquor, some grass!

Rising Early

I awake,
Not because I want to be awake,
But because the lesbians next door have dragged the porch furniture across the gavel,
And have shouted their morning greetings to each other,
So, I awake with a sudden bang and quake.

The cowboys next door are also awake!
I hear squealing through the walls and imaging how the tall one with the receding hairline
Must be impaling the tiny one, with the big la bonz, with his branding iron -
But, only learn that the squeal comes from the lack of hot water in the shower.
I toss!
My lover friends are late sleepers, or at least stay in bed long.
If I get up too soon, and knock on their door,
I'll interrupt something or other -
Most likely the long, long ritual of showering and shaving.
But wait, my womyn neighbors are on the porch, guzzling coffee and belching donuts.

My head's under the pillow now.
Maybe I ought to shove it between my legs and take the edge off my swollen cock,
Or maybe I should just open the blinds and walk out naked to the world,
Let the womyn play ring-toss with their donuts,
The cowboys lasso me like a steer and splash in the cold water,
Or just surprise my lover friends with an early morning rise.
Just then, there's a knock on the door -
Oh just come in - it's open -
Always, always open -
And what came in - oh what the hell,
Honey, I never kiss and tell!

Annie DeW

When you step through her door,
You step to her world,
A world of wood carving and paint.
A gallery filled with the magic of her,
Who knows what you like,
But it must be like her-
Like the earth we know, or think we know,
But look to her to tell us.

And as we look, she detects that we
Unlike the rest, are not tourists.
And from her bench, she chats with us,
As if she knew us from the time of our birth.
The honesty of her works on the wall,
Is the womyn -
Is herself, uncompromising like we are;
And so, we embrace her work -
Not as tourists come to sample Cape Cod,
But as the sisters of truth.

I Bought this Gift for You

I bought this gift for you,
The both of you,
Because I like to see you together,
And because you let me see you together,
Without restraint or bars.
You fight and love within my sight,
You touch and repel as if I were not here,
And the beauty of your caring for each other and for me
Has made more of me to share with thee -

So, I waited until you both were taking the nap,
While you were plying each other's lips,
And caressing your every sense -
And while you fucked I went away
And made this little purchase at the shop of Annie DeW,
Because the more you make of me,
The more I make of you.

Calypso Music in the Air

Calypso music in the air;
Horse manure and clams.
Fudge and taffy everywhere,
And the smell of men.
How I love this hustling town,
This growing pandemonium,
And it makes me dance in heart.

So, I call to my friends to dance the night through,
To tunnel to the dark place,
To shout over disco;
Then to the one o'clock ritual,
Parading firm pecs to the world.
Sassy street corners.
Call to those young thanes.
Sing songs like sirens,
Then to the soft portals -
And there in the flickering light of the candle,
Inhale the sweet smell of men.

Not Since My Coming Out

Not since my coming out
Have I grown to the sun like this -
And I thought, coming out was over;
The pain and trial of awakening,
Adolescence trying each road;
And I thought I came to your borders
A well-adjusted mature fag.

But, to higher ground I go;
Go and going still,
For I found answers in Provincetown
To quizzes I stored away.
And I know now in an instance;
As if I awoke again -
But the thrill is far, far different.
It raises me up and every one I know;
And I want to shout, but I will not!
Because I have been given here
The rest of my life to grow.

So, until next year, dark brightness;
Until, bright darkness, again,
I'll breath your breezes daily
And exhale you through my pen.

August 29, 1992
Edward C. Patterson