Old Poem

I found this old poem today on my old Dell Laptop. It's fun to read your old stuff, even if it makes you cringe.

I fell in love with him,
for a moment,
at the hostess stand at the Big River Grill,
because he knew what I was but he was
not afraid to kiss my cheek or touch his hand
to the small of my back
—where New York fags tattoo sharp,
unprimitive armor into their skin—
and laugh when I told him I wanted to
take him home with me.

And because he had kept his bearded,
polar-fleece and khakis and open-toed shoes,
which to me made him look boring and beautiful,
like soft, sinking foam.
And there was something inside him,
unrestless and successful,
and I cried about it later, having wished
his kindness on me over and over.
I knew that I could never accuse him
of loving me back.