We stumbled home
hand-in-hand as the sun rose
over your notoriously boring
working class hometown.

Not your real hometown
it adopted you.
The place you come from
has a name I can't pronounce.

Your accent is rough—
more common than your native friends.
I think you're afraid that your name
might shame you.

We stood there
outside your gaf in the morning grey.
You told me
that you can't stand your father

my hands ached, I want to
bare myself back to you
but I don't know how.
You just embraced me

kissed me all up the sides of my head.
I want to tell you
nothing has ever been this real for me,
but I can't.
You are everything I didn't know I was hoping for.