Searching

He sat in the corner

drinking a cosmo

while Cher’s “Do You Believe In Love”

played for the sixth time at

the packed Piranha Night Club.

He was the only heavyset person

as the thins and musculars

flocked amongst each other.

"Care to dance?" I asked.

With a beaming face, he took my hand

and we danced.

We barely spoke just stared

at each other’s dilated pupils

furiously keeping up with the beat.

As the music faded away

and was replaced by

“Truly Madly Deeply,”

I put my head on his chest,

as two top buttons of his

red aloha shirt got undone,

feeling the fur exposed

tickling my cheek.

Listening to his heartbeat,

he talked about how tiring

the convention was and how

he’d be back again tomorrow.

Intently I listened to his words

and to his heartbeats as I

rubbed my cheek on his chest —

my heart beating in tandem to his.

The song ended as Cher resumed

the gay’s current anthem.

I sat with him as he nervously

drank his cosmo.

I did not talk and just listened

to his stories about work and

how he didn’t miss Minnesota

and loved the Vegas weather.

Excitedly, he spilled his cosmo

on his red aloha shirt.

Watching the drink grow into

a large wet patch on his protruding belly

he kissed me on my cheek.

He stared at me, smiled,

showed his ring, then left.

I sat alone for awhile

wondering about his red aloha shirt

and how I wanted it to be

on the floor of some seedy

and cheap motel room

while a young slim man

throws a casual glance.