Dedicated to David Selves, aged 12, who died off Woolich supporting his drowning playfellow and sank with him clasped in his arms on September 12th, 1896.
what is it to be known
to have someone stretch their trembling limbs around your heart
running before the fall
mason.
the boy turns for his other
his arms, his limbs, his heart
lips locked moments before
tumbling through trees sworn to secrecy
entrusting the forest, gleefully sliding upon the ice
their eyes turned to the feather-dotted sky, birds singing their
songs of indifference
one’s sigh invoked a symphony to swell in the other
arching their necks to look up, heat flaring in cheeks and arms
the anticipation of palms running down each other’s chests
the boy’s heartbeat, beat, beat, beat
beat
it was quiet, the split
a low rumble, like the gurgle in his father’s throat
before the bloom of bruises
silence swallowing his song
mason.
the boy didn’t hear the scream
he didn’t think, didn’t breathe, only moved
all inhibition knotted as shivers danced up his spine
his arms, his limbs, his heart
flailing in the waters
at the edge of the slice, the boy inhaled
and then he heard his name
david, david, david
electricity bloomed across skin freshly stroked red
he bit his tongue, suffocating a wail
mind running to prayers long ago buried
fear cleaning locks to doors rusted from negligence
the boy didn’t speak, only wrapped his trembling arms around
the small body of his lover
pressing his blueing lips to skin coated in gooseflesh
he did not flail, he did not swim
tension fleeing from his bones
the boy now pulls his love against his chest
praying for the trees to release their secret
tear apart the signed contract
to signal from every branch for a soul to stumble
into their frozen embrace
the boy feels muscles sag above him
and runs his fingers down the limp arms
of the boy he loves
steadying his eyes on what is here, what is now
shedding everything but his heart
still beating, still loving
water bites at his gut, his chest, his hands that refuse
to cease stroking a rigid chest
until the cold flees altogether, fingers pausing
upon the edge of a rib
and the boys feel nothing at all
