A Glimpse of the Perfect Sky
by Diar

His lips are the shallow

trenches behind which

he conceals his suppressed


and most secret, “unspeakable”


in the camouflage of standard

military fatigues, and in

the Arizona-desert brown

that paints contours

in the irises

of his eyes, (eyes

that ceaselessly assault

and batter my heart), I see

a glimpse

of the perfect sky.

His long, slender

fingers wrap

around the fragile

glass of my

oft-shattered heart whenever

he gazes at me with

that detached

yet provocative stare. His is the deepest,

sexiest of voices, and each

time he speaks,

he performs

the intangible harmonies

of the song

that ferments and

hibernates in his heart

along the

overplayed ivory


of my spine.

Without touching me,

without ever kissing or holding me,

without tears or a profession of love,

he has abducted my soul

and eclipsed the ceaseless,

philosophically meandering

thoughts that

balance precariously over

the cold, dark chasms

of my romance-haunted mind.

His body is stretched and taut,

his skin soft and electric

with the strikes

and flashes

of the lightning rod of Youth

frozen in the graying

embers of the

once-golden locks of Time; every inch


in the natural polished bronze  

of Donatello’s decadent David


in the overheated kiln

of the sun.

His arms embracing my

unloved body

and cradling the sanctuary

of my heart with his hands,

it is this of which

I dream

and I so fervently desire.

I yearn for his lips

to trace

a new, uncharted course

across the un-sailed seas

of my mouth

and of resting my head

on the smooth

expanse of his bare chest.

He has etched his name

on the glasshouse of my heart

with the diamonds in his eyes

and his hypnotizing

smile has

impressed an indelible

picture on

the photographic


of the camera of my mind.

He has stained

the oceans of my infinite soul

with the deepest

dye of blue

radiating from

every fiber

of the cosmos

of his ever-dilating

and contracting being;

a long time ago

I wrote the first page

of my autobiography,

today, he has written the last.

He, above all the others, is the man of my dreams,

and there is nothing more

I can give him

but the sacrifice of my love, my life.
Copyright © 2005-2014 Bare Back Magazine, all rights reserved.
Please contact the authors if you'd like to reprint articles on this site.  All copyrights are retained by original authors
About Diar:
Diar is a freelance copy editor and proofreader pursuing full-time work in the
publishing industry in an editorial capacity. His educational background is in
Literature, Art History, Philosophy, and Religion. He is a poet and critical prose
essayist, with several publishing credits in both genres in print and on the web.
His literary field specialization is the long 19th century from the French
Revolution through the early Modern novel, with particular focus on the
evolutionary changes of the Gothic, Romanticism, Decadence and
Aestheticism, and Orientalism. His religious and philosophical interests focus
on the various sects of mysticism, as well as Christianity, Hinduism, and
Buddhism. Overall, he continues to hold a strong interest in and love for the
different aspects of the arts and humanities.