Max Mundan

but when I take you
in my rugged mitts
you cannot help but agree that
goddamn it
my hands look good on you.

I will lay down
my life for you
when the words
are not enough.

I am there
with you
holding your hand
sharing your tears
singing the song
with you

My body remembers
the imprint of yours
as though we were molded to fit
each other’s curves

You are my love
and I would not have you
any other way

as long as you are in my arms
your lungs filling up with air
in unison with mine
then I can say
I have truly lived

Let me touch you in the places where forgiveness lives, on the temple, on the shoulder, on the chest.

These Trump supporters want us to know that they smile at African-Americans and hold the door for them when they are entering buildings. They think it’s important that we understand they have a Hispanic coworker or a favorite gay waiter they treat as a friend and, therefore, have their tender feelings hurt when they are called mean names like “racist” or “homophobe.”

I kissed you as you pressed
your perfect body close to mine
and I could have walked away;
I almost walked away,

And we must be
love,
for everyone,
even those whom we despise.

We have danced along each other’s borders since before we were born, your eyes calling to me, between dimensions, with gentle whispers of greenish-blue.

Donald Trump’s hopes for winning the office of president and thus becoming one of the most powerful people in the world may be broken and dashed and that is an absolutely wonderful thing, but that doesn’t mean that the work ahead of us is finished. It is just getting started.