much of my commute
these past few days
has been about the first call
we’ll never have after our break.

obsessing over
the receiver bringing
absolution
through your imagined hello
in more weeks than i dare count.

my phones notif’s are almost taunting me
reminders from every little corner of the internet
that life can’t pause
the moving on
after the
death of another gay boys feelings.

the thought
eventually there’ll be an
unspoken acceptance
your voice will never be close and familiar again

unshackles me.

as the northern line pulls into the platform
i like to imagine somewhere under its torturous sound
you’re speaking to me and i just can’t hear it.

this is the peace i’ve been left with
to patch myself up
in all of its ugly simplicity.

oh how a heart can sink but still shine.
oh how my love can be smothered
and you be fine.

forty steps in the town church to spire height.
we ran away                                                                                                    
after communion

watching pigeons roost.

sawdust settled on stained glass.

sat with the stigmata in the pit of me.                                                          

your eyes aloft
to the beams where Christ
laid bare

coveting
the beauty in a man.                                                                                        
and learning
boys wish would it grace them.


       i did not think to ask you if you felt the same                  
        i did not know how.