The Boy Who Came in From the Cold (47 page)

Now, close your eyes. Go on
and close them. Imagine waking up
at midnight on a bicycle. You are seated backwards yet somehow pedaling forwards, your arms are stretched out and cradling the handle bars behind you. Pedal faster.

Watch as your neighborhood disappears into itself.
Watch as the grinning slick of a spring road becomes one blur like every moment of a lost freedom finally returning to your feet. Watch as every responsibility is sucked back into a sandbox, look over your shoulder. Watch as life approaches your back. Do not let your future live behind you.
Bloom backwards, and open your eyes.

We have grown into umbrellas, upside down,
catching rain like we forgot our purpose:
grab thunder and swallow it.
Plant flowers bottom up, their roots digging outwards
like there is a storm in your palms and God wants his lightning back.

Douse yourself in gasoline. Wear steel-toed boots,

dance on flint and count the colors. You are a burning building, shower yourself in sand until you are a castle made of glass.

A whisper is a river drinking the world,
it is the string can telephone connecting you to your neighbors bedroom, the line vibrating so hard with laughter the night snaps back into

A yell is an ending. A block of ice that remembers
it was happier when flowing. It is a voice box
break dancing in front of anyone who will watch fearing its words are not good enough of their own so it must flicker like an earthquake. Remember when you were young, when you still believed you had something to say worth listening to.

Find someone who you can grow young with. Kiss him, kiss her, on every finger fluttering like a songbird accordion
not knowing which way is up, slide your lips across their body, make harmonicas of their skin piano keys of their teeth, play your tongue across every note and remind the both of you together you are symphonies.

You are the youngest sound since the moon swallowed the sun and held its breath till spring. You are a yell sucked back into a whisper. Love.

decade and their fabulous little dog. He is lucky enough to have a lovely daughter as well as many extraordinary friends. He has a great passion for life.

B.G. loves romance, comedies, fantasy, science fiction, and even horror—as far as he is concerned, as long as the stories are character driven and entertaining, it doesn’t matter the genre. He has gone to literature conventions his entire adult life where he’s been lucky enough to meet many of his favorite writers. He has made up stories since he was child; it is where he finds his joy.

In the nineties, he wrote for gay magazines but stopped because the editors wanted all sex without plot. “The sex is never as important as the characters,” he says. “Who cares what they are doing if we don’t care about them?” Excited about the growing male/male romance market, he began writing again. Gay men are what he knows best, after all—since he grew out of being a “practicing” homosexual long ago. He submitted a story and was thrilled when it was accepted in four days.

“Leap, and the net will appear” is his personal philosophy and his message to all. “It is never too late,” he states. “Pursue your dreams. They will come true!”

Visit his website at http://bgthomas.t83.net
or his blog at http://bg-thomas.livejournal.com
or contact him directly at [email protected].