NaPoWriMo #2


You’re late.
That is to say, you never arrived.
What about the promise
of my queer pride?
My poly-self
I dreamt you white-blonde
to deep black, your face a moon
to my light.
I dreamt you
and dream you
and think how to reach you.
Not as easy as boys
the flirtation, the double-entendre, the giggle to body language.
I react as a friend
when I’m near maybe-you,
reel in the heartbeat
and the rose blooming on cheeks,
awkward and eager to impress.
You dance out of probability,

leave nothing
but dream dust.
© 2013 Robin A. Sams


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