Ares and Aphrodite (April and August)

Awkward, to be developing an affection for Alvin that is not romantic nor absolutely platonic, and as a result feels abjectly transgressive. But, by God, defer your judgment of me for just one moment. Let me plead my case. Remove the cuffs from my wrists and drag me, on bloodied and knobby knees, in front of the pigs at the trough. In the long rectangle of the shaky spotlight, I say: Please, it isn’t my fault that there isn’t a good name for a relationship with a man twice my age with whom I can barely say I share a language. There isn’t a good way to say the truth, which is that when he moves, I see something inside the movement, represented. I cut my hand and he loosens his grip. He twists his hip and I tighten my grip. Awkward, to be developing an attraction to Alvin that is not sexual but not solely intellectual, and as a result feels impossible to understand. I can track him around a room without looking, so there is, at minimum, some level of physical magnetism. For what reason,…