Secure in Sodom

Secure in Sodom

When he holds me tight, I feel secure in his grasp.

The warmth radiating between us is passion.

When I turn around and face his beautiful eyes,

I’m lost for words in the path of his stare. 

Mom said it was wrong, but it felt so right

to kiss his lips and explore the mystery.

His clean-cut hair and muscular build 

was a reflection of all the jocks I stared at in school.

I longed for male acceptance growing up, thanks dad.

I remember the long walks down the school halls, 

hearing echos of “you, fucking faggot!” Is it bad that these 

things surface on lonely nights such as these?

However, I did not want to recreate Sodom and Gomorrah. 

I love him and want to lie beside him forever.

When he touches me, I am frozen with peace. 

So, why do I feel like Anne Frank hiding from the Nazis?

It’s because of them. It’s that time again.

The church bells are toiling, and I feel their eyes

fixed on my second floor window. They are coming to 

get me. They must have read Leviticus 20:13 again tonight.

Footsteps slowly crept up the apartment staircase.

With the help of their Malleus Maleficarum,

they will surely rip me from my sheets and burn me 

as a witch. They burn anything they don’t understand.

The gentle knock that greeted my door turned into

violent bangs. “Baby, let me inside.” It was my lover’s voice.

With hesitation, I unlocked the screechy knob. 

A heartfelt hug assured me that I was secure here in Sodom.