queer-with-a-pen

a meal for my lady fair

oh, my lady fair,
it does appear that we
have inherited the same
sharp edges

that sadness, despair,
and crushing anger that
can never quite be choke-
chained into submission

and i may not know how
to wipe the tears from your
cheeks in any permanent way,
but i can cook you a meal

let me feed you until the
loneliness stops
feeling so fucking big

witness this love language
of mine, in the form of
strong coffee and eggs just
the way you like them

i’ll serve you my heart
on a platter, fondness baked
to perfection every time

and even if i cry into
the soapy water while washing
my way through a sinkful of
dirty dishes, it’s still the thought
of you that makes me want to
sing along to every love song
on the radio

and i hope you can forgive
how off-tune i am,
the way i wipe wet hands on
a ratty t-shirt and always wear
black when cooking or baking

so let me feed you,
my lady fair,
soften those sharp edges with
a home-cooked meal and a
promise of always
being there