Poems From Providence - The Poet's Press

The boy did not resist, but let his hand
touch the hard lines of the lover’s chest,
slipped to his knees in terror and awe,
not breathing when the athlete’s body covered him,
thrilled with the priapic thrust against his loins,
not caring that a seed-burst could cinder him,
not fearing the rending of flesh by godhood.
And there was no pain — the ardent god
gave him, and took, a thousand pleasure strokes,
and every one was joy to both of them.
No one has ever been raped by a god.