What's this?  I'm not supposed to believe in this.
This thing, this romantic myth.
It's for teenagers, not intelligent adults;
just chemicals in the brain,
tried once, never again.
I was quite certain.  Until now.

But here it ******* is.
Right before my eyes these last weeks.
This girl - so crazy for me,
and.  I.  can't.  stop.  thinking.  of.  her.

Her tongue in my mouth, the deep brown of her eyes.
Sugar rush of my ******* against her angel body.
We cry when it's time to part.  We are in deep.
The instant she's gone I am aching for her again.
My heart trying to pull from my body to find her.
It's sweetness and pain, I feel so **** alive.

I'm scared.  Scared it can't be real,
that it won't last.
But I believe in her and trust her,
with the zeal of the convert now.
I'm dropping all my defences,
taking this second chance and running with it.

Here's a little something,
I'm not sure it's poetry; maybe prose.
My day was going well, knocked-off early, travelled home.
With the morning's mail, my new bank cards, as expected.
But not quite - the name - so wrong.
There was my title, 'Miss', but with my old boy-name, in full.
I was stunned and distressed.  Upset and angry in equal measure.
It had seemed all so simple at the bank last week, and,
now. this. *******. ****.
I went straight down, on the Victoria line, steaming,
holding back hot tears, and sunglasses well needed.
An hour later and I was out in the street again.
Looking around still a bit stunned.
Lots of promises and a sort of disappointment in myself
that I didn't explode as much as I had expected.
It might have been a kind of therapy perhaps?
Actually I needed a different sort - a stiff drink.
Old reaction. Victoria is fine for that, innit?
A wine and time to sort out the ****** mess I am.
In the bar I search for one calming thought, something to put me in a better mood.
I owe myself more than this furious self-pity, for Christ's sake.
I know I can do it.  I'm too subjective, but I can use this weakness too.
And here it is. You and me.
Our time together at the weekend.  So simple.
A fresh, vivid memory not yet dimmed by the passing of more mundane things.
Being in your arms, looking into your blue eyes, I the object of your passion.
A bubble universe of you and me that will be for always.
It's a special memory sealed just like a bug in amber.
Forever in space and time aloof and impervious to the world's crap.
Showered by your hot kisses, I became a goddess for a night.
I unlocked your spirit too; you shone and took my breath.
We were locked so close.  Vibrating with mutual energy.
I glowing, you gasping and drained but happy, both dizzy.
How can this be?  We don't deserve this.  This is 'love'.
Actual, ******, romantic, love. The stuff teenagers dream about.
I worry that I'm not really supposed to have this.
But I know a good thing when I see it my love.
So like I said, I'm subjective, impressionistic sometimes.
It was a simple trick to switch the ****** thoughts for another
that was so, so much sweeter....

Right bang in the middle.
Between man and woman.
But this is better than before - I don't feel like a guy in a dress anymore.
I'm travelling through that special space and time,
that just one in ten thousand ever get to see.
A **** sight better than it used to be.

I didn't expect to be writing this right now.
I really didn't.
This comes right from my transition.
I'm saying goodbye to the boy/man inside me that remained.
Eibhlin always said she'd have a funeral for the old me if I made the change, well, I'm holding it now.
Looking at what's ahead, I welcome my new life as a woman.  I'm not scared.
This is right and what I always wanted and I know I will be ok.
But there is some part I have to let go, to say goodbye.
It's a little-death I cannot avoid.
The boy inside that tried so hard.  He has to go.
To be put to sleep forever. So alone.
There's no turning back now for me.
With hot salty tears, sobs, and a lump in my throat I am killing part of me - a real, dear part,
so that I can live as my real self.  This is so sad to me.  Maybe no one can understand.  I actually LIKED that version of me, but he wasn't ME.
I never asked for this ******* contradiction.
Four decades gone. Ciao.
Ok, that's it. Out of my system? Maybe.
****.