I always envied your transparency;
the way you made light move
without thought, how every boy
wanted to taste, to touch,
to follow you down to a world
you shaped with your own fingers
but could never control.
I wanted them to admire the crevices
in me that I could not define,
and so like them, I traced your shadow,
memorizing the formulas that spilled
from your mouth. I ransacked the corners
of your room for some talisman, some misplaced
spell. There was nothing. There’s still nothing.
Maybe that was what you had all along – a vacuum,
a space, a white void wide enough for a grown man
to crawl and snug into, to cocoon and to pretend
that he belonged, that he was yours – even for a short while.