You won’t ever know
The sore cap
Of my knee

You won’t ever know
The dryness
Of my lips

I don’t need
Your pity or
Your guilt or
Your sense of
Accomplishment
At being a nice
Gentle and kind
Boy-thing

(I’d rather hear you say

I bore you
Than speak
To a dead ear

I’d rather hear you say

You hate me
Than love
A silent thing)

You won’t ever know
How I exist and
How near

You won’t ever know
But I’m sure
That’s fine with you

My dear