If I were a
book I’d prefer to
be read by someone
who has already read
me someone who knows
and anticipates and waits
for their favorite page
and favorite part someone
who enjoys my weight
and the wait the
wait for it to
happen there’s always something
good about the familiar
a cozy place a
welcome spot and if
I were a book
I’d hide in plain
sight and always overlooked
for there is nothing
special about me except
to those who have
already dared to read
Category: Gay
FriendsBooBoyOther
And then yet again
after I was certain
that I’d gone somewhere
else down a different
path and through a
different thicket and past
unfamiliar brambles and a
grove of wispy willowy
trees in a clearing
and overlooking a river
sits the same dark
wooden bench ebony I
think and very strong
I sat to rest
and felt comfortable there
supported protected and warm
and while I knew
that I was somewhere
new this particular bench
continued to appear and
I knew then that
wherever I go you
my friend will be
always with me too
Missing
This is absolutely horrible
horrible I tell you
Tell me how does
one describe what’s missing
when what’s missing is
well uhm gee missing
In order to describe
anything it must be
or must be able
to be or be
imagined but how does
one describe what’s missing
when what’s missing will
no longer ever be
…Ground
There is well was
a place for you
here next to me
in the bed which
I have on occasion
filled it’s higher than
my side since you
are were smaller but
it’s not even that
I simply don’t like
the view of downtown
and the mountains from
over there because from
over here I had
you to look at
before I ever saw
them you being my
fore and they back
CelloMoon
It’s definitely the cello
which still haunts me
it sounds like a
wolf just this side
of the timber line
calling to or for
its one and now
lost love I think
that it’s the late
summer moon which doesn’t
haunt the skies until
just before dawn stealing
some of the morning’s
sunrise reminding me that
while like the love
that I don’t feel
currently it’s still there
even if but briefly
Both cello and moon
are not my ghosts
but my reminder angels
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 