T’was a queer, sort of hook-up,
t’was your lips that tried to shut me up,
t’was your nervousness that broke the silence in the air,
t’was your trembling of which I was aware.

“Did I disappoint you?” you asked me, doe-eyed boy.
“You didn’t” I sped to reply.

Yet, two days from when,
if you’d have asked me then,
I’d reply, that indeed you had.

For my body was all you sought,
but my spirit could not to be bought;
and the brushing of the air,
against our bodies- bare,
wasn’t enough to make me forget;
my love and need for care.

That I am strong,
and willing, on my own,
to be the man I want to be.
To move onward and about,
with not the slightest hint of doubt;
of my success in life,
in health, and fairer breeding,
I am certain, I am sure.

That I am weak,
and unwilling to change,
in my pursuit for love, and truth.
That I wear fear upon my back,
in the visage of former lovers,
who’ve mocked this body,
and played this mind–
and that in this ruin, a seed will grow,
and blossom forth,
and live to show–
that waiting has brought the rains;
that holding out hope has brought the light;
that my love has made it whole–
I am hopeful. I am scared.

Tell me if you know,
of the person you could be,
to me, if you owned,
this body–
would you please,
this mind–
would you ease,
from all the aches that it has known–
Tell me if you know, of this person who could be–
my version of,
somebody for me.