Fire Spinner

Emerging at street level from the underground bar I was at last night, I was struck. Molded in place on the sidewalk like a statue poured of concrete, muscle, sex.

Like injecting a powerful drug, euphoria threw itself across my frame. I shuddered in the heady night, moistening my Andrew Christian underwear.

Three beautiful boys were dancing in the blocked-off street. They spun fire around themselves with poi, interacted in a sort of flamme-noir visceral fuck dance. Pale, muscled torsos dissappeared into tight black leather pants. Sensually, the boys teased the fire across their arms, into their mouths, made tracks of it on the asphalt all around them.

The smell of their sweat, the accelerant, the wetness of the black air all around us-the vibrating music to which they danced-the shivers of desire-

They danced to this song.



I'm barbacking at the Lounge tonight. After that, I plan on listening to this song, grinding against my wet oil canvases as though they were my lovers.