o'connor

silent boy,

offered door-opening

side-stepping

art-dedicating

beautiful boy.

i want to grab you by the tufts

of your darkened roots.

kiss your brow.

demand to know,

how did you become so poetic?

how?

to let me write about you.

although the only words;

"sorry"

"i've lost my voice"

"enjoying the view?"

that passed between our lips.

when you sat in a gallery,

and wouldn't let me pass by

without a word...

but i managed to fall into

your embrace

in phrase,

in my mind,

in this familiar typeface.

irish boy

of bleach-blond stoicism

teach me to feel.

please

let me know something

that is real.

make my skin tremble

and my heart quiver.

you drink tea

and i do too.

that's enough for conversation

extending beyond

our painfully polite

'how are you?'s.

 

don't let me go,

without knowing.