Salvador spent his nights
playing in the beams of light while passing bars.
He stared at his reflection with ill-eased vanity,
black hair and a beautiful face with tanned skin.
He never wasted a moment at night-
he'd given up on wondering why - 'cause he knew that
even cheap sex was ten minutes of comfort
he wouldn't get anywhere else.

Careless and alive he paced the city streets
and whistled songs from his head.
He smiled at passers-by and hoped
that one might return the sentiment.
Sometimes they did,
took him home for the night and
touched him with calloused hands.

He hid his scars and drifted
from signpost to signpost-
as if he sailed from island to island,
lounging beneath each one and
staring cautiously into the night.
He was just this ghost in blue jeans and Obsession.

He never thought about the facts or the risks because
pointlessness had become his answer
and maybe three times in the back of a stranger's car tonight
might be all it would take
to assure him of its absolute truth
- it's absolute beauty.
It was all he believed in.

He might stumble, a little stunned, out of that back seat
with his pants still undone
and his mind still buzzing with the smoke
and events and the void of the night.
But there was always something in
the feel of the gravel against the sweaty palm of his hand
that made him feel as if he was a piece of something eternal.

Maybe it was the dizzying hard kisses on the back of his neck
Or the bruising hands as they gripped his shoulder
Or his face,
Or the gritty crunch of stone under his Reeboks as he ran home
to clean himself off
and curl up in bed
to laugh himself to tears...
to sleep

At night he'd sit up with his shirt off,
staring up at the sterile cross above his bed
and wonder if Jesus had ever
known the feel of sweaty, sticky vinyl against his bare chest-
doubted it.
In his heart he knew
that Christ never lived his life,
had never, could never, be tempted by the same things...
and was bitter.
He figured that it was back to the drawing board for God.

Maybe next time, Father...

and it was out the door again...
this Ghost with dark hair
Smiling wide as he looked into every face
wandering the streets
waiting by the phone
savoring the neon glow above and his reflection, wet in the street
pressing his back against some dark brick wall and his hands in someone's hair
absolute beauty, absolute perfection, absolute faith.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.