Shall I inscribe my eulogy to joy
on this, a lonesome, February day
over a man I'd thought of as a boy
until he sealed my lips. I held no sway,
no current strong enough to draw him out.
My language blurred the lines, then ran astray
into a grayish space that conjures doubt.
My tender words were meant to chase away
the heaviness that lay upon my shoulder.
I poured three cups of flirting with a smile.
And not expecting it – he grew much colder
as if he’d seen some ghost or phantom guile.
Perhaps the coming spring may turn around
that repertoire of joy I thought we’d found.