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.