In Memoriam -- Dear David

It was delicious to be laid out there,
know you were raising the black lace off my bottom,
exposing all of me.
I loved feeling the beat of your hands contacting my skin
as it warmed and reddened,
as the rhythm quickened and the power of your energy
entered me. I thought of everyone I'd lost,
I thought of everything I'd failed at,
I thought of everyone who'd hurt me,
all the pain I'd caused others too.
I thought of all the hopes I'd had that were dashed,
I thought of all I wanted
including how much I wanted to make love with you,
and others, without fear,
how far away that seemed,
and I wept.

Wept while my ass kept rising up eager for more strikes,
while my nether lips quickened with moisture
that ran down my legs with my sweat.
Wept aching for all the broken parts of me to be washed out,
replaced by some clean breathe of serenity,
wept knowing I'd never know you more than this week,
wept knowing the world was losing you,
wept wanting to be used by you if that helped
you let go your own anger about dying,
wept feeling the momentary strength you still wielded so well,
wept wanting your percussive rhythm of blows
to enter me deeper than any coitus could,
wept relishing the intensity
of this clapping slapping massage,
wept feeling like I was tripping,
wept building up the energy that felt like such a curious mix
of sexual arousal and sweet release of old pent﷓up blocked pain,
wept wishing the relentless unforgiving judges
who misunderstand this way
could give us the benefit of the doubt and learn to accept us all…

Somehow you knew how to carry me over,
somehow you helped me through to a softer place,
a place of comfort,
a place of freedom,
a place of rest unreachable
without that journey of release…

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David Lourea was a San Francisco sex educator, a daycare teacher, a father, one of the many beautiful people we lost to AIDS in the 90s, before the cocktail made it a more manageable disease, at least for those with the privilege to finance it.

Loraine Hutchins

http://bathroompoet.net