Cocoa Powder Breathed Everywhere.

myrmica rubra.
erasmus.


Erasmus is all hard edges and leather-heated sports cars
though he's on his feet and carrying Clay
to the island in the kitchen
racks of spices, cayenne-paprika-fennel
long stands of licorice, stars of anise, caramel spooned
into a jar by the cook that made it.
And still the boy thins, ebbs,
dissolving into the mansion.
No reason for either to leave:
Erasmus walks the tunnels, lets his house greet him overhead,
and keeps going.
He pulls dirt tiling up with the sharp tip of his feet
and needs his shoes shined thrice
before he meets Santiago in the fiber of California
that becomes Mexico.
He buys boys and he stores them
in canopy bed guest rooms.
He leaves one at the countertop, then takes
him across his shoulders.
As though the thrum of a singing bloodline
and the sweetness of glazed skin
will turn him up worthier
for the time he wishes to go back to.
Clay's limbs are stretching out, his eyes icing with
clicking clockface slashes
faster than Erasmus can account for.
There comes a night when he is wrapped around the
back and Clay calls him a
mariposa in the most tender of voices
and asks him for a packet of cocoa,
niveous powder cut with an adulterant
he would put in his laundry
then advises him to auction Marco first,
because he says he sees something in him
that men love to break.
Erasmus does not know when he is owned more:
when the boy dresses for the bathtub
and runs his tongue along the veins of his cock,
or when he doesn't
and is a warm specter at his back.
Erasmus is sunglasses in the hotel entrance
and a sliding door to the grassy patio
that leads to Clay lounging in the Anaheim sun.
And this boy,
so pale and thin that the sun shines through him.
Even the scales of him.
♠ ♠ ♠
insects 1.2