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I like to read your poems
because they remind me
of my own
and I take comfort
that I’m not alone.

I think you’re weird
and I like it
when you try to grow your beard
out and then shave it
again, and again.

I like it when
you lock the door—
it lets me know
there will be lots,
lots more.

I like to hold your hand on walks at night
where we improvise
and watch owners
fuck their cars and we smoke
cheap cigars.

I like it when you kiss
my neck and my lips,
my shoulder, and I like it
when our shirts come off
and you look so happy in the darkness.

Blindness—?

I am not alone,
I am not alone,
I am not alone.

And I won’t be alone,
I pray—
promise you’ll be there
to kiss me on Sunday.