half life . . .
women are a
beautiful torment,
but it’s men
who break my heart
waving imperiously
at the after hours party,
he says,
“you’ve been a bad boy,
go to my room!”
male colors . . .
dark and light,
brown and yellow,
legs and arms entwined
and the rumble of his sleep
his burlap skin
washed by the
diamond waters,
and everywhere,
jellyfish in bloom
tight blue jeans—
I hate to
see him go,
but I love to
watch him walk away
for Jayson

streetlights shining
through the branches,
my lover
chases about the room
pup yapping at his heels
a man should have
hair long enough
to tangle
so he understands
his lover’s heart
I wanted to argue,
but the sandpaper of
his jaw
was more than my
lips could resist
like a woodpecker
he hammers away
at my resistance,
but I have no succulence
to share with him
how am I
to know
what I am
without the mirror
of your disapproval?
a cowboy
as broken
as his horse,
the sunset far
from his reach
the ferris wheel
with empty seats
goes around again;
I check my watch
another time
you'd think
as old as I am,
this youth desiring me
would delight, but—
performance anxiety
for Sean, a sequence...
dawn on
another continent;
still this young man
keeps me company
tonight
there is nothing
quite so delightful
as someone
eager to learn
all my vices
Persian carpet,
my denim leg over
your bare one,
my book resting
against your back
his relatives don’t like him,
so he tells them
that he’s sleeping with
a famous male poet
twice his age
for Orestes, a sequence...
let it sing,
this kite string
that tugs at the earth
and pulls all passion
with it
stormcloud eyes
man of my passion
catch my lightning
answer me with
your thunder
Mardi Gras Indian,
let's snake our way along
Bourbon Street
to the sound of red jazz
and black drums
ah black man,
it’s not your affability
my hands explore—
come a little closer
that I may know you better
sing to me with
the sweet angel voice
that I heard
in the church of
blessed love
shatter the vase
and let the dust motes scatter,
let them break
like hearts at the end
of a kite string
there,
in the yellow sunset,
two kites dance,
one red,
one black
it is no woman
this moon of men
     sailor in
     the great sea
     of longing
it’s a lonely feeling,
wanting to hold
his hand
and walk through
the art museum
this man of mine
I suppose I’ll never meet
he is the stuff
of dreams and wishes
in a winter house
i don’t want
to move heaven
and earth,
just the heart
of a man
for Eli

i miss the thrumming
of his great heart,
skin stretched tight
over a small frame
bursting with intelligence
winter day—
the crispness of
the celery
as I prepare
to dine alone
on a winter morning,
small things take on
unusual importance:
hand lotion, toilet paper,
forgotten lovers . . .
woodsmoke
on a rainy day—
isn’t love enough?
another
gay marriage ban
M. Kei
Love Letters: Homoerotic Tanka of Love and Friendship

A 3LIGHTS Presentation
Curator: Liam Wilkinson

Poems © M. Kei, 2008
Artwork © Liam Wilkinson, 2008
All rights reserved.



Credits

"half life" : Modern English Tanka, 1:2. Baltimore, MD: Modern English Tanka Press, Winter, 2006.
"His burlap skin" : Modern English Tanka, 1:2. Baltimore, MD: Modern English Tanka Press, Winter, 2006.
"Persian carpet" : Gusts : Contemporary Tanka. #6. Lethbridge, Canada: Tanka Canada, 2007.
"Mardi Gras" : Tangerine : A Tiny Tanka Chapbook, 2007
"it is no woman" : Simply Haiku, 5:1, Spring, 2007.
"it's a lonely feeling" : ‘Stone Amid Water Weeds,’ Lynx, a journal for linking poets. June, 2007.
"i don't want" : Heron Sea, Short Poems of the Chesapeake Bay. Perryville, MD: M. Kei, Publisher, 2007.
"woodsmoke" : Tangerine : A Tiny Tanka Chapbook. Perryville, MD: M. Kei, Publisher, 2007.
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