The year 2009 also saw the sad disappearance of English poet and author James Kirkup.
The love that dares speak its name — By James KirkupAs they took him from the crossI, the centurion, took him in my arms-the tough lean bodyof a man no longer young,beardless, breathless,but well hung.He was still warm.While they prepared the tombI kept guard over him.His mother and the Magdalenhad gone to fetch clean linento shroud his nakedness.I was alone with him.For the last timeI kissed his mouth. My tonguefound his, bitter with death.I licked his wound-the blood was harshFor the last timeI laid my lips around the tipof that great cock, the instrumentof our salvation, our eternal joy.The shaft, still throbbed, anointedwith death’s final ejaculationI knew he’d had it off with other men-with Herod’s guards, with Pontius Pilate,With John the Baptist, with Paul of Tarsuswith foxy Judas, a great kisser, withthe rest of the Twelve, together and apart.He loved all men, body, soul and spirit. - even me.So now I took off my uniform, and, naked,lay together with him in his desolation,caressing every shadow of his cooling flesh,hugging him and trying to warm him back to life.Slowly the fire in his thighs went out,while I grew hotter with unearthly love.It was the only way I knew to speak our love’s proud name,to tell him of my long devotion, my desire, my dread-something we had never talked about. My spear, wet with blood,his dear, broken body all open wounds,and in each wound his side, his back,his mouth - I came and came and cameas if each coming was my last.And then the miracle possessed us.I felt him enter into me, and fiercely spendhis spirit’s finbal seed within my hole, my soul,pulse upon pulse, unto the ends of the earth-he crucified me with him into kingdom come.-This is the passionate and blissful crucifixionsame-sex lovers suffer, patiently and gladly.They inflict these loving injuries of joy and graceone upon the other, till they dies of lust and painwithin the horny paradise of one another’s limbs,with one voice cry to heaven in a last divine release.Then lie long together, peacefully entwined, with hopeof resurrection, as we did, on that green hill far away.But before we rose again, they came and took him from me.They knew no what we had done, but feltno shame or anger. Rather they were gald for us,and blessed us, as would he, who loved all men.And after three long, lonely days, like years,in which I roamed the gardens of my griefseeking for him, my one friend who had gone from me,he rose from sleep, at dawn, and showed himself to me beforeall others. And took me to him withthe love that now forever dares to speak its name.
Let 2010 be the year of freedom of speech, sexual diversity and lesser involvement of religion with morality.