New York in The 1960's - 70's (3)I didn’t know you felt that way
just as the golden-haired girl
with bleached French roots
didn’t know I felt for her
(or worse, knew, and felt
less than dismissal)
we are ebony dominoes
pass the plain papered parcel
our affections whittled and sharpen
by the smoky knowledge we can never
confess ourselves or pardon
to objects of secreted passion
so remote and out of touch
the girl who falls for
a woman who loves men
the heterosexual who has a crush
on a flamboyant boy
things get broken without throwing
why is emotion so deluded?
I will never tell her my secret
just as you will not reveal yours
in our actions and what we do not say
there is the truth
explaining the easy pain of social discourse
masking itself behind awkwardness
when she talks about the men she dates
I dare not say … choose me you fool
I could make you dance
in a way you have not yet discovered
some people hang out of reach
even for sailors
leaning into the confessional surge
I can empathize
I would never have said yes to unwanted
dinner guests
so why should she entertain a cliché?
girls who like girls fall for those who
cannot be reached across life boats
better I hold my green tongue
admire from afar
the provoking shape of her
the way she knows
people are watching
her sway to
unrequited love songs