queer-with-a-pen

a time to play

we meet for the first time

in the industrial kitchen 

of just one more shitty job,

but there are still sparks when

our hands touch

 

i know you from somewhere,

i’m sure of it, and

i wonder if you can feel the way

that the blood in me calls out

to the blood in you

 

there’s a history there that we

have the power to write,

and i wish we could have been

kids together

 

before everything became just

a little more than could be carried

without leaving its own set of scars,

i would have liked to sit in the

green grass of a summer day and

pick flowers for you,

with you

 

and we can still do that, ya know,

be something akin to kids together,

in that carefree way children have

 

let’s go out and find a big,

grassy hill to climb, and i’ll bring

a picnic basket with the food you like,

and we can sit side by side,

and tuck flowers behind each other’s ears 

 

and i want to meet you,

again and again,

hold your hand and smile at the

way you say my name back to me,

like i’m something, 

someone, worth remembering

 

i don’t just want to grow old with you,

i want to grow up with you, too