Soft Boy's Love Song.

Updated: Jun 29


Photography by Rebecca Anne Dreiling

I wonder if you quit people.

you know,

the way you quit cigarettes

steadfast

but hidden round the back

I wonder

if you make love

or if you fuck

with your hands

with your mouth

with the strap


I wonder

if you live

with ghosts

like I do

if they haunt

you. do you?

sleep well?


I wonder how

you get tucked in

how your spy glass sits

how you stir

in spats and fits

what’s that dream

that wakes you


in your shower—

where the thoughts slip

where do you stick them

down in the ribs

round a doorknob

where are you going?


what’s the feeling

when you touch the dirt

a tree

a baby in a belly

what arrows shoot through

when you taste a cake

was it a birthday?


the wedding—

when you smashed

that glass

by mistake

looked yourself

in the eye

in the mirror

outside the stall


washed your hands

in the bathroom

with the flowers

with the lady

handing paper towels


you put the good soap

couple of tampons

in your suit pocket

maybe a mint

just incase

said, hey—

is that you

is that me

how did I get here?


your old chick

has a new chick

who smells

like trust fund

dusty,

overpriced,

vintage

and Chanel

# five

curated carbon copy

of that spring catalogue

If

millennials fucked

with things

like paper mail


bite your lip

mumble something

anything

some thing

as the clock ticks

and the couple

cross the table asks,

”where’s your

plus fun?”


roll your fingers

round that good soap

in the pocket

pinch the pennies

beside

hot water in the eyes

no.

you won’t let

the tears—

nah—

step

outside.


instead,

you ate the sugar

that got swiped

cross the bride

you don’t know

well, no. not well.

ate more

than you needed to

to busy the mouth.

you know the husband.

co-worker.


her face — yeah

your co-worker’s bride

her face as he—

cameras flashing

and well planned smears

icing on the—

face

cake

face

cake

face


danced it off

to that bad

90’s tune

touched your belly

said to yourself

one day,

maybe one day,

just maybe a baby

could-might-possibly-maybe

l i v e

here.


looked round the room

all those heteros

eligible-sperm-donor-dicks

on the dance floor

and barefooted

heel-less women


it’s hot in that suit

yeah?

but the tie looks fly

and the haircut

and those stares

from straight chicks

feel naughty

and right


when you get home

You’ll take your shoes off

but not now

no not now

less

it’s outside

just to feel

some grass

and wind

on a wine-red face

maybe have a smoke

and a think

marriage.

where’d it come from

and what is it

about proximity

that makes us gays

so, very, very, sad


take the train back

yeah.

to your new place.

avoid the big pupil eyed guy

jerking off

on the platform

with an audience

of rats.

maybe he won’t notice

the girl

inside the suit.


when he comes

And the train doesn’t

“call” über

shared ride

drunk couple

bickering

sloppy-kissing

at your side

look out the window

out at your city.

pretend

to be deaf.

what is a home

if not this city

what is a city

if not

this

city

if not this—

New York,

I’m not through

with you.


but,

I need a break—


all those

bounced

checks


all that

re-

gret


I’m a sucker.

cuz I still love you.


goodnight.


I’ll call you in the morning.

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