the first year

I looked at your
grey sweatshirt pass
my desk and I knew.

I wondered whether
it was only a matter
of time before our
queer paths crossed

and it was.

Did we ever
fool the crowd,
crawling out of your
skinny dorm bed
disheveled when
your roommate
returned?

I smile at the
memory of that
night when I
looked into the
mirror after a
long rendezvous
and found what
seemed like a dozen
small, round bruises
around my neck.

Later, I brandished the
battlescars brazenly
in the dining hall,
drunk with youth.

I wonder whether I knew,
when I saw you in
your grey sweatshirt,
that your mouth
would be so hungry.

1 Comment

Comments are closed.