be with me
and be my love, love me
with all your might
in the few hours
we have left
before you leave.
come and love
me like there’s no
tomorrow, come
prove there is
no distance that can
break us, there is no
darkness that can quench
our light. come and let
the memories we make tonight
be my candle against
the long dark days
to come, when
we’re apart. come
into me and warm me,
come gently and hold me,
do whatever you want but just

the window III

I dreamt of sex and
woke to find you missing.
I waited, patience growing
thin, hoping to tell you
in person and maybe in
so doing, remember my passion.
but hours later, the dream
has gone and my blood’s
gone cold. I’m languishing
instead. it seems
you missed the window.

maybe that will teach you
not to stray quite so far
from my side, or maybe
it will teach me
not to dream.

a little privacy

in that restaurant, we
found a good corner, a booth
and three empty tables
in a cul-de-sac, where
no one was looking and
no one cared. the hot waiter –
who was probably gay – helpfully
stayed away as I slowly showed you
a little more skin
than I had been when I
walked in the joint. you
were crazy for me, and I
was blushing. today I learned
that sometimes
a little privacy
can go a long way.


I adore the vibe so far.
don’t get me wrong,
I truly, madly, deeply enjoy
your company and our meeting
of the minds. there’s
not a doubt in mine
that we’re doing great work here,
both separately
and together. my only note
is that I would just like to add
a bit more of our bodies
into the mix.

I’m feeling a certain
need to know – as if
I was on a need-to-know basis before
and now that very need
has come to pass –
a kind of hunger to learn
the precise texture of
your skin beneath my fingertips,
to know what your mouth
tastes like, to test
if this chemistry I sense
is real, because I’m corporeal
and alive, damn it –
all my protestations to the contrary –
and my body is making its
presence known; because
spring has sprung and I feel
the sap rising in my blood
like water inexorably coming to a rolling boil
and it makes me want to touch
and be touched like
nobody’s business, it makes me
want to spawn wildly like
salmon who are about to die and
must out-jump winter-lean, hungry bears
just for the chance
to pass on their legacy.

all this spring business
feels urgent and primal and wild
and on one level it is
but please note
that I’m every bit as scared as you are, so
there’s really no rush. any motion
down the path is better than
standing still. we can go as slow
as you like: hand-holding here
or there, a kiss
goodnight, some
acknowledgment that I’m
not crazy and there actually
is romance here,
is all I ask.

(even the tiniest progress will be used
in service of that exquisite Promethean torment
from which I wring my poetry.)

so if we could possibly make
this slight adjustment,
just a minor course correction really,
I’d love to renew our romance.
have your people call my people
if you think it has legs.