I knew you once before,
had passed you specky, lanky, characterless
in dusty corridors, retiring into C rooms
Now what are you, years older,
eyes uncomparable to clichés
What were we?
Invisible, 'part of the woodwork', the damp and must and old worlds
Why was it then you hadn't been of note to me,
of nothing to me
Perhaps you were not pin-marked,
bearing dead inks,
Perhaps your eyes could not sparkle behind thick lenses
I know now I fall in love with drug casualties, or wannabes,
who live their days as nights,
and set their lungs alight
Forgive me for all I say, all I believe,
all my vapid perceptions of boys like you,
being the Ginsbergs and Kerouacs of this world
Failing, always failing
And I'm empty still,
till I find,
boys like you made of easy exits,
and open doorways
I am not winning by having shallow feeling,
I am losing years from empty lust,
when brown eyed boys come profess love,
that is full,
and overbearing
Tell me,
will I ever be yours?
FIN
