I woke. He mumbled things in the next bed.
I lay there for an hour or so. At
four
The alarm rang. He got out of bed. He wore
Nothing. I felt his
sleepy classic head
And long-limbed body stir my quiescaent heart.
I'd
thought I was free. Wrong from the start.
I found I loved him utterly instead.
There was no real hope. 'guy loving fuy?
Man -that's a weird trip - and not
for me.'
I accepted that. but next day, warily,
We coiled to snap or
spring. rash truth. To lie
Still could have spared the trust; the warmth as
well.
I left his room that day. I try to tell
Myself this sorrow like
this ink will dry.