Close your eyes.
Why?
Don't talk.
What are you doing?
I'm composing.
I don't understand.
Put your hand on my heart.
It's so fast.
Faster than yours.
What's the matter?
I care.
I do too.
Not enough.
What does that mean?
I'm finished:*
                     Of two, the one who cares less
                     is the one with all the power.

1 If ever I wrote a thousand gospels of Hope, but meanwhile did not love,
        I am the empty words of politicians and sycophants.
2 And if ever I knew the world in fine and time and with all shared my mind,
        but so burn in hate that I bar any Faith, my words are cinders.
3  And if ever I laid down my life for a friend or died so that you all might live.
        If I do not have the Love that did it, the deed meant nothing.
4 Because Love feels far, feels deep, and feels forever.
        Love is kind; and it does not whine, chime, or shine.
5  Love is grace. Love sets free.
        Love is gentle. Love let’s be.
6  Love is a repletion, the completion of joy despite of,
        because of the shared, dark Truths of our twilit souls.
7 "For Love beareth all things, hopeth all things,
        endureth all things.
8 Love never faileth:" But when these prophetic words pass,
        Love shall live where life and strife wither.
9 For fiery stars we will never see whose light has not come,
        And any act, however fierce, is only the orbits of atoms.
10 But when Love came in our lives, all the littlest in
        the drowning dark embraced as (w)hol(l)y One.
11 When I was small, I thought and felt and feared small;
        but my heart has grown and now can no longer.
12 Anything meant nothing until Love came and
        bade us recognize the I in You and You in Me.
13 And where all else fails, there is three: Hope, Faith, and Love.
        And greatest of these - Binding Hinge of Life - is Love.

Would be the day I
finally define who I
am - a winter day.

i don't look at you,
except to steal a sideways glance
from the corner of this dance club
while you lose yourself on the floor

but i write poetry of you,
secret words of secret feelings.
and the musk and dark becomes
a garden in provence.

i would set them to song,
if there is a melody here
that could set you to dance with me
to steal from you a touch.

but you are in another world
of dimmed light and senses
and i can steal only another glance
in my faraway, medieval love

Love is a white bear.
And I am raven-haired
and out-of-place,
Prey in a snowstorm.

"So all of this was because you liked me?"

"No, my love,
when I sang Ave Maria to wake you up to see you,
when I complained about the peach fuzz on your chin,
when I called you a ***** *** and that all you want is a hole to bone,
when I teased you for the way you say "hackneyed,"
when I walked over to smell and "guess" your shampoo (I'd known already),
when I let you cheat on games,
when I made fun of the constant holes in your socks,
when I decided to learn about baseball to figure out what so great about it,
and when I smacked you on the leg with a spatula for getting cheeky with me in the kitchen...
those were because I liked you.

But when I woke up two hours before you to make you breakfast,
when I sing sad love songs to you in my imagination,
when my tread skips a beat,
when I got so angry that someone talked bad about you
      and I wanted to ******* rip their meaty heads off,
when my heart breaks to hear your hardships,
when I stayed up with you until 3:00 in the morning on the roof before I gave up
      or again until 5:00 in the morning indoors a week before you left
when I didn't move away from you when our arms touched,
when I learned you stood up proudly gay in this brave new world
when I see you on an angle and you look so serious,
      so pensive, so handsome and I sigh, sigh, sigh from afar
those were because I loved you.

And the list can go on and on and on."