When you hugged me tight, suddenly, unexpectedly, unabashedly;
when you put hand on my shoulder
Fingers into my fingers
Eyes into my eyes
The little edge of your foot, perched on the little edge of mine,
comfortably,
gently,
the dissonance
bearable, actually.
Nice.
Neches.
When you touched my chest,
when you let me down, slowly,
from the way you held me up
head over hills, mountains, valleys, rivers –
the map, spread across my earth –
when you humped my leg, in the dreaming dawn,
thinking that I was asleep,
hoping I was awake,
so that it could be me, you could say –
me touching your boundaries,
wandering along their length and width,
fingers dancing through the abrupt little hairs growing on your elbow,
the smell of light still fighting for life on your breath.
It was the weather, which was clear.
It was the alcohol, which I don’t drink.
It was the homophobia, which I am very aware of.
It was you, shy, alone, desperate for anything.
Desperate to be heard.
Desperate to be held.
I still hold space for you,
Days, weeks, years, lifetimes later.
You have a girlfriend now, girls, girlfriends, wives,
a wife,
the life you wanted, held in your hands like water,
slowly dripping away,
like the lifetimes it has been
since I opened my heart to you,
and you placed yourself,
one, delicate finger at a time,
into all that is held within.