A fistful of love, broken with tenderness. A slippery trail of spit drips from mouth to mouth under an unflinching sun. Fingers dig pools of darkness into creased skin. The shadow of chains on parted thighs. A single fly crawls over a naked back. Burned with the permanence of cyanide blue, a man plummets, broken chains above him; is his release a liberation, a fall into the unknown, or both? A collapsed tree, two branches prop the emptiness of its trunk, an open invitation. Balls clutched with vicious desire, an engorged cock slips between spread cheeks, ass bent toward an inky black sky cruised by clouds, diaphanous, bursting with sun, sublime. The most delicate wisps of those clouds, each leaf and blade of grass, every curling hair on these hirsute bodies, is carved from bone with light. I could cut myself on every flickering edge. Read More