I can change the room
but every time you enter
all the noise softens

I chase with my eyes
what my hands cannot touch — I'm
left empty-handed

head raised to the sky —
in a way, praying you won't
stop what you're doing

the world's a tightrope —
I fear nothing when we're each
other's counterweight

the real sin is not
in two men in love but in
choosing to hate love

I have yet
to understand
what it's like
to have
had touched
and tasted fire —
raging

to have
had melted
from a warmth
given off
by a source
other than
my own

and to have
been molded
into the image
and likeness
of a space
I didn't
create

I have yet
to gain
the CONFIDENCE
to cast fire
that comes with
having had
tasted you

on my knees — in a
way, praying that you won't take
your hand off my nape