I am a curly haired boy
He has straight hair that the wind loves to comb thru
I am stout
He’s not overweight
Like the porridge Goldilocks engorged
I know it
I do
You like the boy
I saw it
I watched
But
not too long
Just enough to see
the way you gaze at his fresh young body,
his youth
That I
once had, the one I rid myself of to fit your circle
You touch him a bit too long
You look at him a bit too earnest
And it’s fine, I’m
fine
Fine: an old linen aging, browning, and turning in to rag
At
the slightest useful
Fine: a wall thawing from winter’s cloak, cracking silently,
unnoticeably
Still
stable
I’m fine
I just wait and sigh, wait and sigh
wait and sigh
From the trenches of a cliff inside my chest,
I exhaled,
It echoed perhaps prayed,
“He’ll come home with me”
