They ask if we’re friends and don’t expect what I reply
Just some queer poetry for your Friday
They asked us if we were friends, and I corrected them
this is my date,
they say you look so good; where are you going
I reply with her
slide a little closer to her shoulders
wonder if I should sunbeam down
to her collarbones, but we’re
in a Texas city too small to know
the words of girlfriend
with intention behind
our first kiss.
It never comes because
I’m too scared to part
the nouns from my verbs
to make actions out of intentions
to know how to say I dig you
without giggling
why am I an ocean
of intimidation with men
but such a soft-bodied
thing with women?
Why am I too scared to say your name
with hope next to mine? To part
my knees when you ask to
touch my legs, to intention
behind my look to go further
to steam the glass behind
our hidden love
to make it less hidden
and more of a declaration.
