In the moment when our eyes
birthed a catch--
a striking moment as sharp
as your icicles--
it was there.

Furtively. But there.
As a harlequin, a taboo.
It was the catch of the eye,
the twist of the lips,
the bend in the neck.
the open hand laying careless
to most, yearning to me.

In the moment of our romance,
I knew your warm breath on my neck.
Our transcendent glow dappling
the twilighted subway stomach with
invisible iridescence.

In the moment of our
rendezvous,
I saw a tall and welcoming home
lighting the cold night
florid with iridescence.

It was a moment
(just one!)
and then, I dismounted.
Looking back over my shoulder
to see your icicle eyes pierce
yearningly back at me
shattering the departing window.
I whispered and I know you heard.

Boy on the train with the icicle eyes:
I love you.
I love you without knowing how or why,
but simply, straightforwardly,
because I know no other way.

I love you when you're gone but
thinking of me, and I love you in
every moment I feel your iridescent icicles.
Waiting.
Waiting,

waiting.
And hoping for the day
the triumphant day when we'll
have more.
More than a moment on the train.