At Least I Suppose

“Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you/ That you may be my poem/ I whisper with my lips close to your ear/ I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you.” Walt Whitman
I know who you are,
Or at least I suppose,
And thus,
I must assure,
Though it needn’t be said,
I’ve loved men only platonically,
As Brothers’,
And even still,
They have been few and far between.
I know who you are,
Or at least I suppose I do,
And as you place your hand upon me,
You have already become my poem,
An epic tale,
That absorbs my day,
In wonderful expressions,
Finding anew words to describe,
That which is unmistakable,
You have become my poem,
This poem,
That the Ether brings,
Whispering to me,
As I long to whisper in your ear,
May I entreat you to listen,
To these whispers,
And your heart.
I know who you are,
Or at least I suppose I do,
Hope I do,
Believe that in you,
Again this poem,
Reveals the inner workings of my mind,
The thoughts that I have,
Of holding you near and dear,
Caressing your mind, body and soul,
Though not with platitudes,
Instead with crafted nuggets of sweet kisses,
Known to all who read me,
Real kisses,
My beard tickling you,
Spiritual kisses that liberate you,
Oh how do I love kissing you.
I know who you are,
Or at least I suppose I do,
Which I hope does not impose,
For I am coming to realize,
With wonder and awe,
Marveling at the capacity of the human heart,
To heal time and again,
Love as guide,
That here is it necessary,
To compose,
That your mind knows,
As for love,
believing I am capable,
Is not the same as that feeling,
The perfectly imperfect chemical chain reaction,
So intricately misunderstood,
Though I believe,
That time will allow what is so obvious to blossom,
As destiny intends…


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