Bait: A Queer Myth
— Gavin Yuan Gao
When history looks back, I want to be
remembered as the small red fox
who once set a trap for the hunter.
Royal with want, I leapt & flickered
like a fever all winter as he followed me
into the lesser-known part of the myth.
This, of course, was the twentieth year
of my frayed breath. The sky, obscured
by the desire of clouds, bore down on us
like a swollen eyelid. Later, I let him
catch me, felt his brute strength shifting
inside my softness with the patience
of snow, our bodies rippling toward clarity
as moonlight swallowed our loud flesh.
I remember his exhaustion afterward, his
cold formality—how the salt gleamed across
our shadows on the bare ground. I watched
him struggle to pull on his boots. Watched him
get up & disappear into the rest of the year.
I can still taste the wind from the back
of his throat. I think I always will.
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