tell me, cowboy,
just what would happen if
you were to turn and face that
wild animal which chases you
across the desert, and into
your dreams?

when the only sound that
echoes out across those
great sandy dunes is the
jingle jangle of your spurs,
do you ever think of me?

does that wild thing have
something to say to you,
or will it simply knock you
down and press yellowed fangs
against the soft skin of your throat,
and which one scares you more?

tell me, cowboy,
can you tell the difference between
a tender caress and a choke-chain,
or do they both feel the same
to that wild thing in your chest?

because i can, cowboy,
and i’ve got the bloodied knuckles and
split lip to show for it,
having wrestled that wild thing into
a shape which i can hold dear

and i think of you, cowboy,
when i’m laying under that
same desert sky, with nothing to my
name but the whiskey warming my guts,
a threadbare jacket under my head,
and your name, sweet on my lips

kneeling in order to rest
my cheek on the windowsill
and gaze up at the moon through
the full and green tree branches,
i briefly allow myself to indulge in
that hopeful romanticism that we’re
both looking at the same celestial body

and i know you’d laugh if i
put it the way,
tell me i’m guilty of cliches,
and something about all
those ****** bards

but i can live with that,
because i know that when i
leave after breakfast, you’ll
wave back and watch as i go

i’ll even have the courtesy to wait
until i’m standing on loose gravel,
waiting for the first bus,
to press the sleeve of my jacket to my
nose and breathe that last little
bit of you in

and i thought of you, after that
first time i had kissed another man,
walking back home in the dark and
worrying the clover pendant you’d
given me between shaking fingers

and i’m still chasing that high of
when you swept me off my feet,
suspended briefly in that in between time
of too late and too early at night,
not having been held like that since
i was a boy

and is it any surprise that i’m
still sweet on you,
after all these years?

i make breakfast for two,
fried eggs with unbroken yolks this time,
coffee, toast with butter and apricot jam,
a mango that i cut perfectly in half
and quarter like my mother used to
when i was a child

i’ll take the candles, keys, cat treats
off the top of my rickety dining table
and drag it into the middle of my kitchen,
pull two chairs out from between
the fridge and overflowing coat rack

maybe sheepishly admit that i tend
to eat my meals at the desk in
my bedroom, makes me feel less
alone with music in the background

and you’re really there this time,
sitting across from me, knees almost
brushing under the table,
because you picked up the phone,
made the drive,
hopped more than one bus

let me love you in this way,
through nourishment and a
home cooked meal

let me gift you my smile,
a deep belly laugh,
and leftovers for later that night
when some of that familiar darkness
starts to creep back in

let me love you in this way,
and maybe you’ll stay longer
next time, and feel a little
lighter when you go

pirate with a fear of drowning,
bard with a fear of loving,
but i lashed myself to the mast anyway,
and sang until my voice gave out

and that’s the same kind of
fear, in a way,
so close to giving in to the sweet
call of the unknown,
wondering if the loose threads in the
well-worn sleeves of your sweater will
finally unravel if i stray too far
from where i’ve been holding on

i won’t dash my ship upon the
rocks this time, will stay out
past the breakers and squint up at
where i imagine you to be when the
bright yellow from that lonely lighthouse
bathes my sins in gold

maybe i’ll even walk away
just about unscathed, too,
promises that still echo across the
empty stage of my heart,
eagerly awaiting when you’ll be able
to, willing to, understand this tongue

and there’s fear in that, too
under all that love, it’s just fear,
and this shouldn’t come as a surprise

and maybe this one isn’t for you,
but it’s certainly about you,
just the same

on the last bus of a
four transfer trek,
watching as the mountain,
covered in snow under all
that blue, blue, sky,
grows larger before me

but i’m not going home
no, i’m going to drink
and make merry with that
wild sea captain i fell in
love with as a younger man

and there’s not quite enough
liquid courage thrumming through
my veins and warming that
darkest pit that lurks in my stomach
to admit i never fell out of that love

though, if i lean a little closer
on that cracked leather armchair,
or if our hands brush when
playing best two out of three
with a board game, then no one
else needs to know

and when that wild sea captain
of mine declares himself a broken man,
i will not argue, because that’s
not my place

nor will i presume that this
is a fairy tale and i can somehow
love those jagged edges back together,
or that this is something to be fixed at all

and because this is no fairy tale,
since no greater force compels me,
i can be a constant of my own free will,
bringing with me baked goods and
loud laughs over cheap beers

i can love that sea captain,
not in spite of,
but because of,
those jagged edges

the song on the radio
makes you think of
yet another middle school
dance you didn’t want to
be at

but your mother had
already given you the four
dollars for the door fee, and
wouldn’t be back to
get you for another few hours

and it’s dark in the gym,
atmosphere that feels suffocating
and stagnant to you sporadically cut
through by bright winking lights

the little black dress with the
pink band around the middle is
accentuating all the wrong parts
of your body, and you long for
oversized hoodie, sneakers, and jeans

and the only boy you want to
dance with, doesn’t want to
dance with you

still don’t know if you want to
be 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 him
or 𝘣𝘦  him,

still won’t know, over a decade later,
thought this no longer keeps you up at night

but you want his hands on
your hips, think and hope and pray
that this simple gesture could
ground you in girlhood

and this boy, with his tawny hair
and kind eyes, doesn’t know that
you’re a boy, too

and neither do you, right then
all you do know is that you’re a
girl who feels wrong in her skin,
and even worse in that
little black dress with the pink
band around the middle

and the boy you want to
dance with, doesn’t want to
dance with you

I. “i’ll let you know
when i get home,”
i say into the space between
us as the only man i’ve
ever truly loved embraces me
like i’m something, someone
to be cherished

i turn and wave one
last time before the trees block
the view of the little cabin,
then i take four buses back to
my empty apartment and
ache just that much more

II. we go out, or i come
over, and when you drive me
back home you wait until
i’m inside before driving away

even when i fumble with
my keys, your love is
still patient with me

III. “text me when you
get home,” i say,
and you do every time

even if you forget once
or twice, you apologize
twice as much, and i
love you all the
more for that

IV. i cry into the
sink full of dishes that
i’m washing my way through,
hands too soapy to wipe away
the tears

but i grab a threadbare dishtowel
to see what you’ve got to say,
when my phone goes off

V. and i’ll dry my hands,
and my tears,
to text you back:
‘i love you, too’