Sex Al Fresco

will you rinse the sand off my back?
by Nate Cole, Brooklyn

ripe underneath a lycra pattern
of palm trees and hibiscus flowers
i smudge spf lip balm
across the tan lines around your waist
we are sunburnt by a roll of 35mm film
near its last frame i swear
so i treat this postcard like it’s
a cannonball into an ocean cove
your mouth a starfish stuck
to my neck as i hum a song
we heard on the drive here
but didn’t know
it is june again
when i fold my denim cut-offs
you wore the morning after
from my suitcase to the dresser
how far back my memory
will run on hot sand
to pick up our swimsuits
we left to dry on the beach

Calle del Desengaño
by Tom Nutting, Bristol

In the heat of a night on that street,
I scowled at his whistle’s bold beat.
But the smoke and his grin
tugged my judgment right in,
and I wished I’d whistled him back, neat and sweet.

Elay Backseat Paradise
by Frank X. Rojas, Los Angeles

The car is the only room I can afford,
so L.A. spreads his neon thighs
for two jotos looking for air.
Bougainvillea shadows flirt with us off the 110,

Griffith Park hums its cruising hymns,
Long Beach pulls the marine layer over our sweat.

When the Sentra climbs higher,
the smog thins, and your body
merges into mine.

In the dome light glow,
every palm tree leans in closer
as this cramped car becomes
the last feral gay paradise
in Southern California.

Climbing together
by Ryan R. Migeed, Washington DC

take finger
put it                    there.
take hand, clasp                    mine.
find footing, leverage                spine.
tell me once
twice
what I should                        find.
take
take
take
grow                                in me
&
tell me                               when
to grow                              in you.
climb                                 mountain
reach the peak
enjoy the                            view
&
breathe
&
breathe
&
breathe.
come down in                     time.
&
tell me                             when
to join                              you
by the lake
below.

Into the Woods
by Nirris Nagendrarajah, Toronto

when you dusted the dirt off my knees,
I experienced the sort of grace
that can only arrive after a period
of relentlessness — of gape

Swimming
by Tom van den Berg, Amsterdam

Make my body a shape you have never seen before —
I ripple like water until you come back to me
I ripple like water until you come

Twin Flame
by Misha Horcharenko, West Yorkshire

unbearable, panting sighs pooling around
these things you grind against,
before which you arch and beg–
that unforgettable face where
my eyes keep trying to run,
then crawl right back to the next raw chance
to split your tear-soaked shield,
that thin excuse between hurt and heat,
between what pleasure does
and what my hands keep doing to you,
again and again,
sore from clicking, clutching,
from grabbing at your wrists and hips,
from forcing stillness where you shake.
I love how hard I hold myself
in front of you,
and in front of those who watch us,
those who kneel and worship,
tongues greedy, mouths open,
lovingly buried in your filthy need,
licking, sucking, drowning
in the obscene truth of us.
those delights of our tongues in ass.

Senza titolo
by Daniel Blanga Gubbay, Brussels

Poi a casa, in bagno, quando ho slacciato la patta
è fuoriuscita una lucciola
che era rimasta incastrata, immagino
al nostro rivestirci nel bosco dietro l’Auchan
o rifugiata
nel buio dei miei peli
più neri della notte di oggi, già ieri,
quella che accarezzavi di dorso mentre di palmo
premevi lungo i contorni delle mie membra pulsanti
ed ora balbetta di lucentezza
la osservo riemergere dai miei cespugli
favilla di saldatura al contatto tra corpi roventi
sopravvissuta, ora spenti
e ora spegnersi trafitta alla luce del bagno,
del resto del mondo, del fuori dal bosco
dove l’avevo vista fluttuare
delicata attorno al buco del cielo
mentre io lavoravo il tuo.

Paros at Dusk
by Surat Changmanee, New York City

The sun reached him first,
laying itself
along his back–
pressing a line of light
into the shape
of my intention

I met his shadow,
and the Aegean Sea below
swam darker,
thickening,
as if the water sensed
the quiet work of a body
making room
for more

The island shifted in the heat,
loosening–
its edges widening
without interruption

Even the land seemed to hold
a trembling curiosity,
wanting to feel
how far a moment can open
before it spills

Train
by Trevor Hall, Delaware

Out
In the woods

A train
Passes
As it blows its horn,

We blow our
loads

Silent
“O” faces,

But we scream like
animals

any violation you risk a fine
by Luke Worthy, Sheffield

i’m waiting: a seedpod pearlescent with precum,
ass-offering, flowery over a log. fucking outside
our designated area is expensive, so we’re hemmed in
by a faggy f0rcefield, a gushy membrane with no
control. i dump my bike over the demarcation line
and its chain falls off the cassette. i won’t speak about
the pain i’ve transformed for us to meet like this – naked
against bleach-barked trees, petals caught in blonding
tissue. barefoot, flood-prone men. your returning
shadow creates new areas to be fucked in. i’m a good
bottom, humble as a cottage in the woods, taking all of you
in. bless the bugs we unhouse, living vicariously
as i try to keep it down but can’t, moaning
into a fisthold of socks. let the dogwalkers see, the sailboat
too, angelic on the lake, catching a paper-thin glimpse

blackberries 1
by Adriann Ramirez, London

So many berries so ripe for the taking
but I didn’t choose a single one
Just sat, watched them ripen, then rot
while I got sunburnt in the sun

when the faggots leave their nest
by James Taylor-Foster, Stockholm

close, not close enough,
but close enough to fuck.
the weakest kinks
are kinks in the chain no less,
as braided beads which, steeped in shit,
extract the tract that blunts the mold.

a blunted mold, in drag or drab,
king or queen with gaff or packed,
in all the just for only fans
the dripping cock, the hollyhock,
moonbeam, pine tree, lilac,
magic words and magic wands
– aromatic nothings

for softer things in spikey worlds
are strong and stiff; misshapen pearls
of moistened drives and trafficked words
that graze the skin and birch-bark curls

a twilit figure on slippery ground,
a night-time tap with fire returned:
no words, some tongue
from hedge to bed
throb, vibrate; thump, pulsate, and
pound, by end, to liquidate
for there,
on lavender hill,
romantic love,
the last illusion,
keeps us alive until the revolutions come

Road Trip
by Hayden Winston, Northern California

In an empty lot
Undressed, mouths and fingertips
Roaming everywhere

roof top
by Peter Scalpello, London

clenched balls
of my feet      climbing
steel getaway      a ladder out
of ourselves      i followed
him up &      out surrounded
by circles      when we
reached the top he      giggled
that we could      witness
the city &      truly be
together      in dimness & the
cold pinch of      him at my
waist we dangled      legs &
trainers were thick      with
masquerade i      took his
gaze      with me to the
precipice &      shook
myself out over      the edge
listened as my      piss
sugared the trees      agape
he came      up & held
on      until i couldn’t
exhale myself      any more &
denied impulse        just blew
bits of lung      tissue at the
view until our      hearts stopped
racing &      he texted who
did you      send that smirk
face to      it wasn’t
me

kambah (beyond the third beach)
by Alex Pound, Brisbane

The rough sheoak bark
rough as his hands
as his beard
as his hands
The quiet flow of the river
quiet as my moans
as the hidden watchers
as his cumming and going
The slick puddle of cum in me
slick as my cum painting the rocks
as the algae in river
as the water rinsing the moment away

Our Pleasures
by Adri Rocks, Berlin

Kissing in the park
He tops me first
We make it work
Cos we’re both vers

Cruising the Diana Princess of Wales Memorial Fountain
by Blue, San Francisco

He was all glasses and eyebrows nodding toward every hedge every bush until I followed him behind some trees he pulled out his erection letting it hang over the waistband of his boxer briefs when we kissed the blood rushing to my lips felt like its own kind of erection he put his hands on my waist and turned me around did you see how I bottomed for him shamelessly yes Princess shamelessly bottomed for him with nothing but spit flowers everywhere white roses insects rising from the grass like waves of applause I read a plaque about the fountain it said the water tells the story of your life flowing in two different directions frenzied and tranquil sparkling and spare a loop of sapphire rapids and white granite pools feeding into each other while he bred me from behind grabbing my jaw and turning my face so we could keep kissing while we came with what I believe they call abandon in your country abandon which is another word for letting go which is the only way we can hold on to the people we love Princess

Middle Ground
by Jason Haaf, Brooklyn

Why I want to meet
Is because of his perfectly aged dick
50, hairy, ready to sit in my mouth
From hard to barely soft
Sitting in my hole
Edged with cum and juice
His hole, damp with dew
A blade of grass lodged between his cheek and thigh
I look to my left and see youth on his back
Wide eyes, still withholding
Smelling like earth, like dirt, like 20-years-old
Bare bird chest
Light brown hair lines his forearms
Sitting my stomach on his
I spread his legs and taste his taught
Pushing inside of him, sun on my back
He feels my thickness
And doesn’t need to feel embarrassed
His moans, his boyish moans
Go so high
And mingle with open air.

De Rozentuin
by Levi Jacobs, Amsterdam

Diep in het holst van de nacht
schuifelt schoorvoetend zacht
een man door de pracht
die de rozentuin bracht

Nonchalant aan de rand van de tuin
zijn haren al kalend rondom zijn kruin
wachtend op dat ene gelukje
om aan een passant te kunnen vragen
-Buk je?-

Haiku #3
by Bob of Buffalo, New England

Woods Silent Sucking
I Hear Twigs Crunch and a Dog
Shit— Zip Your Pants Quick