Three Poems

by Mark Acero


We Dove

We dove for the
Sea of sheets

We swam. Bodies — 
Waves of skin, slugs
Of saltwater heat

Each kiss a
Blow of sunlight, mouths
Anchor, thrusts
Disturbing the flow 
Of breathing, seconds 
Moaned and pushes and pulls speed
We are reaching 

To the slow

We recover

Orange Split

Citrine, plum
In pomp, I pick it up.
Down, the wrinkled bottom

Of its stem. I         
Bend my finger, tipped
The tight pu-        

cker of skin.
To a whim, I linger my        
Finger and sink the tip

To its pit, unfleshing the        
Wet. My grip
Hard and steady, the dug         

Deepens and juice drips – 
The bore wider, the flesh          
Tighter and I 

Deeper. I push
And reach my end              
Of the damp hug. I tug

The plug of girth                 
And see the circum-
ferential. My mouth           

Follows and lick
The drips of the lip               
Once hollow.

This Room Has Died

This room has died.
Clothes and books
And trash strangled
Like snakes tangled.
Walls and ceiling
Patched with
Thinning woodboards
Festered by termites,
Time and weather.
And the bed
Stuck snugly on
The far side
Of the room,
Blanketed by a bedsheet
Of cream, dirty cream,
And scented by dead
Mites and the piss of
Our bastardly dog.

Yet —
This room feels warm
Like her embrace
Calming me when
The sky flashes
And cracks.

Yet —
This rooms feels silent
Like the hours
She spent kneeling,
The bible opened
On her lap,
Her forehead wrinkling
And her mouth moving
With no sound escaping.

Yet —
This room feels welcoming
Like the sheets
Neatly spread, smelling
Like her ointment
And her waiting
For me to come inside
The mosquito net
To sleep beside her.
This room is still hers
She still stays
Beside us


Writer’s BIO:

Mark Acero is an emerging queer poet from the southern Philippines. He is currently working on a bisexual/pansexual-themed poetry chapbook. He was a writing fellow for poetry at the 2016 Cagayan de Oro Writers Workshop and the 26th Iligan National Writers Workshop.