It would be wonderful to love you
     the way that you want to be loved but
     I will never be for you, what you
     will never be for me: enough—just

listen to what silence says when it
     combats the world’s rumours and whispers
     not with fire or theatre, but hits
     of a heart making war with whimpers

no bigger than a fist, this broken
     instrument beating back barriers
     to keep in what vandal mouths took when
     we looked out and we kissed, where we hurt

a tomb less scandalous than the wounds
     our return would inflict, decisions
     and duty wed, nemesis twins who
     coexist and live without giving

in to the temptation of touching
     because skin invites destruction, and
     what I want to happen is nothing
     short of miraculous: to stay friends.