Gay Heaven is Real

Nicholai Cardona

It’s that bedroom

towards the back of the house

where my bear and me can

lay our bones down,

down, down into the soil,

where we won’t be bothered.

We’re done with those

twinbed tombs,

single grave

plots.


Come, come, lean in,

press your ear to our mausoleum;

do you like what you hear?


This is where my bear and me dance and

I’m no dancer, but sometimes

I have to remind myself where I am

because who would dare dance

half-heartedly in Gay Heaven?


This is where I tell my bear,

I keep a body of jagged angles,

like a unlovable mass

of knives, and it’s where

they place crimson poppies down,

down, resting between my milkwhite ribs,

hasta que finalmente me volveré y volveré a

ese campo de flores que siempre soñé

donde cada beso, cada vistazo,

cada toque es un despertar gay

because why wouldn’t they be?

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