Wrestlers

We rub off on each other—brainy as
chess, strenuous as sex—fingers locked in
to fingers, integrating groans and sweat.

Both wanting to dominate, to master
the other, to exert and exhaust, ride
the other man’s vigor like a bronco.

Heave and slide and grasp, stiffen and flex and
press, force towards force, tightening the knot of
flesh and pounding blood, bend and strain and grip.

We breathe more freely, inhaling the salt,
the musty heat radiating from skin
and Lycra and nylon, slippery cuts.

Man pins other man to the ground, exerts
the right to punish, command, and possess.

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