One of Us Needed to Be the Man

The fan sounded
like a busted machine gun
blowing bullets
all over the
bedroom.

I'm sure a couple
of clouds
blew in with them,
as I was sure
I felt snowflakes
falling on my exposed
skin
and seeping into my
pores
as cleanly as booze
and other
illegal substances
seep out.

Like crystal.

My body rejected
them
much like the
outside world
would.

Goose pimples
became

my skin.

My date
attempting to -

cuddle,

rested his face
across my chest.

He mentioned
that he didn't know
whether to nibble on my
nipples
to keep them warm
or to kiss my grits
to defrost his.

Suddenly,
the fan
began to wail
gaily breezing
the stale scent of
sweat, sperm, and
cold old dust
throughout the room
like pesticide.

Quickly,
we arose from bed
got dressed,
left that tomb -

and ran for our lives.

Bryon D. Howell is a poet currently residing in New Haven, Connecticut. He has been writing poetry for a great number of years. Recently, his poetry has appeared in poeticdiversity, Red River Review, The Quirk, The Cerebral Catalyst, and The Lost Beat. Bryon is also the Editor-in-Chief of four online poetry 'zines: The Persistent Mirage, Bringing Sonnets Back, Quentin's Naughty Poetry Journal, and The Brave Little Poem Daily.