It's when I'm looking at him that
I finally understand
that who I am is not compatible
with who I hope to be.
He throws his coat too close to the fire,
in the middle of the tent,
as he strips himself of the layers of the day,
and I pick it up
before it can catch,
though I can't help but to let it sit
and collect smoke
so that next time I wear the jacket,
it will smell all the more like
the smoke, and the dirt, and the
cologne that is him.
Our lips drink from the same bottle,
his hands are warm,
and sleep does not come with trouble
as he draws me closer,
because winter is cold, here,
and the drink makes him kind.
Who I am is far away,
but who I want to be is
with him, and restful,
wrapped in strong arms
beneath the blanket of a
warm Wyoming sky.
YOU ARE READING
Meet Me In Denver
PoetryA collection of poems inspired by queer relationships that emphasize the intimacy and authenticity of mlm love throughout history.
