queer-with-a-pen

tether

if there is something 

more to love than heartache

well, he has yet to find it

 

maybe, he thinks

when he looks at you

there could be more

but the breaking of a heart

just seems to sell better

doesn’t it?

 

if this is a curse

then it’s little more than self-inflicted

and it must be

when there are no flowers winding

vines around ribs, forcing out bloody petals

in place of calling your name

 

food does not turn to ash in his mouth

and water quenches

while alcohol burns just the same

and he distantly wonders if there

isn’t something burning in him, too

 

does longing burn?

reaching out for a sea captain

that is tethered to the ocean

just as the bard is tethered

to the metaphor of love

 

and how the sun looks

when it breaks through

gaps in the leaves

and caresses your sleeping face

like he longs to do

 

but there is no place here

for touches so vulnerable and kind

the shadows long lashes make 

on your stubbled cheeks

is not for him to witness

 

but, oh, he wishes it was

wants to tuck flowers

free of blood and bone

into your long hair

and maybe even hold your hand

 

for you see,

the bard is a simple man

easily pleased and open

in the love he gives

 

practically overflowing 

an ocean contained within

the body of a man

 

and won’t you let him fill

your cup with something other

than rum and the persistent ache

of telling yourself

that you’re better off alone?