By James Kirkup
As they took him from the cross I, the centurion, took him in my arms- the tough lean body of a man no longer young, beardless, breathless, but well hung.
He was still warm. While they prepared the tomb I kept guard over him. His mother and the Magdalen had gone to fetch clean linen to shroud his nakedness.
I was alone with him. For the last time I kissed his mouth. My tongue found his, bitter with death. I licked his wound- the blood was harsh For the last time I laid my lips around the tip of that great cock, the instrument of our salvation, our eternal joy. The shaft, still throbbed, anointed with death's final ejaculation
I knew he'd had it off with other men- with Herod's guards, with Pontius Pilate, With John the Baptist, with Paul of Tarsus with foxy Judas, a great kisser, with the 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 came
as if each coming was my last. And then the miracle possessed us. I felt him enter into me, and fiercely spend his 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 crucifixion same-sex lovers suffer, patiently and gladly. They inflict these loving injuries of joy and grace one upon the other, till they dies of lust and pain within 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 hope of 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 felt no 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 grief seeking for him, my one friend who had gone from me, he rose from sleep, at dawn, and showed himself to me before all others. And took me to him with the love that now forever dares to speak its name.