Two Poems by Joefel Bolo

Urges to Erect

I was told by elders, what’s more to seek when we slant. Grow big, catch—marry while you’re young—marry Maria, they voiced out of thin air. But I want to secure Juan instead, who wouldn’t pick a fine man and hopes of resting their hands on lush abdomen and shoved the opening to feel his hardness. Yet, splitting is a trace and rub it gently, as his beard is growing, as these itches. The hair down here is desolate. Attachments and whipped with onus to unease. I want to spread this legs and the whole thing I can bid. Embrace me to the barest position, bring fever, bring wetness for the cleanest aroma. Your shoulder drips sweat, now’s my new emperor. I thought of him as him, as god, a role—a beginning concerning a closure. The abstraction, but crushed the bare face, and it was never parched. Old and think about it, I hold this fiction for long time, I suppurated in my reveries. Years to think, I’ll carry this surname, this fantasy, this awakening, but I clung the entrance. This ended for now. 


Disparity and Commute

Not the plastic wrapper I swung in the dirty kitchen. Mothering with solace as you demand this delusion and still, birth of questions. Suppose I could wait for a while; I’ll devour pancit to devour endlessness. While body are intact and steady—I am calm. I hear the bliss soaring right next to my thesis of vapid longings. I swear I haven’t seen a face in this dim light jeepney. The sensation apiece time as fear cossets the temper. This pressure, and this essential demise. On their maturity, here’s me, the gore you slit from your insufficiency. Briefly, you invite kindness, from your vital unusual backs, to beg your actions by caressing my head—telling it will be okay. Always kindled with vision, and always wanted to stay away. 


Joefel Bolo is a queer writer from the Philippines.