A Love That’s Quadraphonic

Stephen composed
a symphony
about but not for
me

said he’d leave it
incomplete
until I’d meet
him

in Vienna
so I went, something
came over me
when

I saw him so moved
standing in
front of me
trembling, handing

into mine a palm
extended by
a saint’s arm
statuesque, long

hidden by skies
poisoned by time
dyeing his
innocence

demure, unsure
if I’d take him
into mine, if I’d
hold him

the world
painting me a devil
and I reveling
in leading

every one of them
on, Stephen, he
knew me, that
I wasn’t

what everybody
thought I’d be
evil, an unwanted
son

so I took my time
and I shook
his hand in
greeting

saying, I’m here
I’m not leaving

praying he’d
believe in

my truth since
I never tell it
poetry is nothing
but pretty lying

so now I’m just
a bastard being
too honest
to trust

and Stephen he
completed that
symphony and
when he

conducts it he
tells the audience
it’s about a demon
even ice

couldn’t stay
a fleeting passion
the world doesn’t
know

an uncertain
but self-assured
special someone
called

Jonathan

Stephen, I’m dying
to see you again
so when I’m
playing

the Theater
an der Wien

I’ll be calling
I’ll be calling