The train eases into motion
slow and unassuming
as a lover leaving softly with the dawn.
It is your kiss I never got
that I remember now.
A snow desert bright
so brighter than
light or faith that it should be warm.
The thought
to roll and
wrap myself in it
cannot be made illogical.
Each boy owning himself is you.
All faces stir a little
the throbbing
of a lost battle –
a slash of red
breasts perched like a mound of loose grapes
a simple, pointed look
and I can rise
as often as I must
on that crest of burning self-oblivion…
... Only to be left emptier
each time.
And bored.
The man opposite
prettier now than first imagined
would do. A certain
Nordic charm.
Instead, I think of you.
My first real loss of any value
it is only to clichés
I can turn for any truth.
To hate while loving on
without assurance of my ending
is a novel torture I permit myself to bear.
To dance, to laugh, to kiss
has never been so easy
with my heart
left just outside the door
to wile, to wait
to watch
for you.
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