I wake up as your gay lover

you are not famous yet, your hair

is long and black

(as is mine)

your face not yet

guarded

and with those vulnerable eyes

you tell me about yourself how

you can’t help but strip

the dignity off

people until you’ve used them

up

it’s a terrible thing knowing

yourself

I thought if I’d put pressure

on your spine, you’d

change – in 30 years’ time

though the boy that I loved will

have become the man

that he                  fears

but back now you            are

not intent on becoming

something, you’re with

me, and naked, and not

even wearing your           lenses

you look at me shyly

like you want me   to assure you

no, you ain’t like that

or maybe much rather

yes, you are terrible, yet I do love you

regardless

the thing is I don’t believe

it as I only believe in

what I feel, is you daring

to be nervous with me, is

you trusting my palm and

my judgment

I lie with you as your gay lover

with this body at last

naturally male

in its narrow-hipped

elegance     and all

that comes with it: this other

scent, this different           palpitation

and different fear

of betrayal

30 years later, why did you

drink so much, are all your

wishes fulfilled—the music

the meaning the subversion

are many of your dreams destroyed

count me in, count me out

count on me

to make you famous

I don’t count

I wake up as your gay lover

our smiles reflected in the

lunchbox beside the bed

long before your band

takes off I will have soothed

you when you were scared I will

have touched you

inside, I thought

I wake up.