His Body

His Body

By: Husam (Sam) Salman

I think he’s afraid because

He knows who I really am

I think he already knows about these poems

That wreck havoc from my mind

Onto the interplay of the world

But he’s out seeing his therapists,  

Friends, for a catch-up over coffee

And smokes

          Sometimes I’m just so envious

          Because the invitation  was never extended to me

          (Not like his dick)

Maybe this time apart

Is time to miss one another?

And in the future, will be the time we

Use not to kill one another

I guess these are the moments we should

Approach with delicate finesse

Who knows, but time, if I’ve got what it takes

I think I know I want him in my life

-Don’t want to mess that up - again.

I’m not strong enough for another go

His body

Fits mine like a glove and mine his.

I want to be his rock, strong and resilient.

His body

Fits mine like a glove.

I’m trying not to geek out

In telling him how much I

Want to care.

I’m out!

4 Letter Word

4 Letter Word

By: Husam (Sam) Salman

What’s that word…? You know the one,

It’s the that square peg that fits into that

Square hole. It is the thing we feel, in those

Comfortable silences, the shape of the

Place in your heart… it fits in your

Heart shaped heart. [You know the one]

Songs about boxes shaped like this,

Rode airwaves in autumn of ’93.

We put chocolate in them

And call it a holiday…pfft…(holiday

We don’t even get the day off).

It’s about giving a shit – everyday.

We sometimes photocopy the word

And use it like our Smufy, Lesbian or _________

(I can’t remember, there are so many)

To mask the thing we can’t articulate

With simple fineness, yet it manages to

Fit best                                                 every time.

There are dozens of poems

With not much in them
But the word love.

It’s the word that fills

You up while fucking deep, poured all over

You, like honey-sticky-sweet

Eat dirt with it and stick it in

Your hole whole.

It happens in the kitchen, while…’cooking’.

How do we know, it’s not

What happens when

Four men share one another and

Pile into each other like rabid dogs?

This word is the complex thing

That can’t really be measured,

Bought, or traded.

It’s just given, forever unlimited –

Fortune seeker beware, you WILL find

What you’re looking for.

Then there’s the word, ‘us’.

It sort of has the idea of love

Intertwined in its mix.

Unconditionally

It’s the size of an atom,

Yet measured in stars,

And time. It’s the spell

We don’t want to fall into

But want to selectively cast out.

(Which is sounding crazy

As the concept itself, love)

It’s the thing that has that

Ginger grip on your hip-side

Eyes locked in awe, and lips

Quivering for that instance between

Kisses. It is the single distinction

Between faux real and fo’real!

Don’t trip, but you will fall into it

Again.

In My Eyes

In My Eyes

By: Husam (Sam) Salman

I've only ever yearned for happily ever after

The thought of solidarity in the moment, in the truth

Of ‘you’.

To have the spark…every day

Of rolling over in the morning,

Smiling to ‘your’ face and feel

That I want to wake up to ‘you’

…forever.

Yes I have eyes; yes there are other fish in the sea,

I want to weigh ‘you’ with no equal

Everyone is different and beautiful

In their own way

But ‘you’ would outshine the rest.

(“Shoot for the stars,” they say – “Here’s to hoping,” I say)

I would hope my gifts would leave ‘you’ without

…want or need.

I’d rise to any occasion - always have

Always will.

…for as long as I live.

To our future selves

And happily ever after.