by Gene Twaronite
I stare at the photograph
of a bare-chested 18-year-old
trying to look brutish,
crouching as if
ready to pounce,
projecting his masculinity
lest the image fade. Continue reading
by Gene Twaronite
I stare at the photograph
of a bare-chested 18-year-old
trying to look brutish,
crouching as if
ready to pounce,
projecting his masculinity
lest the image fade. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry