Unspoken Easiness

You, preparing cups of coffee in the kitchen. 
Me, stringing words together on the sofa.
You, reading a book in the bedroom.
Me, folding laundry. 
You, returning from an autumn walk. 
Me, making soup, listening to a vinyl record. 
You, napping.
Me, sprawling in the bathtub.

Then also us, together. 

I know the arrangement. It's in my bones.
So simple. 
The softness of it. 
The unspoken easiness. 

Forget any boisterous popular desires —
just give me a quiet home.

 


Love Existed First

There is no grief without love. 
Grief is the pain 
of something loved 
now lost. 

The origins of grief, 
the initial seed, 
the impetus, 
the provenance, 
is love.

Love always exists first. 

And while this knowledge might not fix anything, 
it might help us get through the longest nights. 

 


Profession

What is your profession? 
Not, what makes you money? 
Rather, what do you wish to profess to the world?

What is your statement? 
What is your anchor? 
What is your North Star?

What do you seek? 
What do you offer? 
To whom do you give your love?

Tell me, what is your heart’s profession?

 


Hey, Nice Walls

You guard your heart 
as if it had the fragility
of a sandcastle.

Of what are you so afraid? 
That a whisper of rejection 
might cause cracks in the foundation?

Or worse.

That a gust of affection
would rattle your kingdom 
and undo the effort it required to build those walls. 

 


I Am That

What do you know
about me and my masculinity? 
What simple story do you stitch together 
based on my face? 
Or the way I move through the world? 
Or these pithy words?

Imagine something strong and steadfast. 
Yes, I am that. 
Imagine something soft and nurturing. 
Yes, I am that. 

 


Roses Aren't the Only Flowers

To move forward, 
we transform ex-lovers 
from roses to weeds. 
To stop the love we feel, 
we villainize.

But how does a person 
selectively close the heart? 
How does a person 
switch off love? 
There is no half-heart. 
No secret door. 
No partial access. 
No maybe. 
The heart is open 
— or it’s not.

Yes, I still see you as a rose. 
But I've learned to love other flowers.

 


And So Forth

that I may have a lover who lives around the corner 
and he may wish to come over late one evening 
and we may listen to a jazz song I discovered 
and he may tell me about a film he watched

that I may rest my head on his lap 
and we may undress each other 
and we may fall asleep with bodies entangled 
and he may quietly slip away the next morning

that I may continue on with my day 
but with the lightness of his being 
evoking a lightness in mine

that I may smile at strangers on the train 
and they may also feel a lightness

and so forth.

 


The Person I Want to Be

loving you is a particular endeavour. 
I’m required to be 
my most patient,
my most nonreactive, 
my most gentle. 
But that’s the person I want to be. 
So, to love you is to become a better me.

 


Heart Breakable

If you come to me with a broken heart, 
I will not look at you with pity.

I will look at you with understanding — 
that the world is bewildering, 
that desire is devilish, 
that love does not always last.

I will give you space to weep. 
And then I will implore you 
to keep your heart breakable.

 

 

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