the secret i don't want to tell you.

disclaimer: The following poem was written before my GYN appointment -
in which I found out that I'm okay.

We flit in and out
and words pass between us and
the sharing of beers
is a frequent occasion.
And occasionally I consider
telling you
The secret I don't want to tell you.
But then your talk turns to
"gay men are bitchy"
and I don't think
I'm interested anymore
and actually I think I'll walk out the door
without saying goodbye.

And you will never know
about the lump in my breast.

leaving.

Autumn approaches.
Time of floating, swimming, tumbling leaves.
I watch as they fall away
one by one
until only a few are clasped tightly.
Held dear.
The questions once more arise-
Whether this sapling can weather
another winter?
To endure the pain of loss
and gain.
Again.
The mourning of what is irreclaimable.
The excruciating regeneration.

And why can't I be Evergreen?

or both.

Is your flower wilting?

Or is it just that my eyes are becoming dim?