In the temples the beautiful boys fight
while we tremble in lust and fear.

I can’t help keeping an eye on
how they swing under their skirts.

Unsheathed daggers. Oiled shoulders slip
in and out of ruthless holds.

Some call it wasted youth but the boys know
what they’re worth.

The spilled blood of one fetches a purse
of diamonds.

A boy swoons in your palm with sweat & sweet oil.
Almond. Bergamot.

He has pledged allegiance, offers a kiss
before he cuts your throat.