We’re talking about almost one entire jenis, here;
not just your own desire
to be hugged, embraced and man-loved
by Singapore’s very first Dreamtiger, and his entire treasure trove
of soft, sensory hope
that runs along the sides of your biceps
and knows that no matter what, it is invited
to link arms with yours,
and lie in the space where there are no flaws
in how we learn to express our love for each other once more,
gently, willingly. You reveal that you adore
the way I bandy about Fuad, and you, and all
the boys who have never been smelled that way before
and want it. Need it. Feel it. Knowing that it makes them feel tall
inside. Not just where the wild things hide, but where the heart stores
real memories.
A real sense of liberty, and freedom, and peace.
To be a big brown, non-binary man, with muscles and a chest that radiate
serenity, tranquility, and a knowing within that one is free:
you can have that, as much as this Dreamtiger has it, by just being
vulnerable. Not with me — that comes later, after you’ve taken the heat
of being judged by
absolutely no one,
for respecting your body and heart and soul’s needs —
but with yourself.
By sitting down, and expressing what you’ve felt
when you see the leader of the Kristang, in tune with his own knowing, that the universe helps
those who help themselves help themselves.
That the truth, and these verses against your curses,
might sometimes be a very hard sell.
But that’s only because of the shame you feel
at wanting to know exactly how a Merlion, and a Merlionsman
smells.
At wanting to know exactly how
you can harrow heaven, and let go of that feeling
that you will always need to live in your own personal hell.