boy

and as the sun makes it's slow climb skyward i feel you, here, slip-sliding between my thighs. i see you between the yellowed, pages of a dusty book and hear you in the ramblings of tragic, comic theatre of old.

and here, in the echoes of souls gone before and souls still waiting, you rise from the ashes of long abandoned thoughts. i whisper your forgotten name in moments that are not quite dawn and no longer dusk. and, here in the quiet moments, you are big, like immovable mountains and songs people never stop singing. and overly dramatic blog posts, just like this one.

sweet, beautiful you, do not look into my eyes. they belie my words, and all the logic that runs like rivulets through my brain. by my soul, i have taken pains to deny you and yet i seek you in all the markings of my skin, and the memories of moments that never were. if i no longer look so completely in your direction it's only because, now, i see you everywhere.

you're here in the stories of the London blitz. in tales of people sleeping in underground tunnels listening to the sound of doodle-bugs and fragile hope. i find you too, in the moments i try to forget, to relegate you to a knee-jerk freudian lapse of judgment. yes there you are, your eyes not taking no for an answer, your hand brushing tendrils of hair from my shoulder. your love, not asking but offering so much more than i could ever give in return.