THE CLOSET MYSTIC

and when you hold my hand,

my heart speeds up,

but time slows down.

your head tilts, laid on my chest,

& the turning of the earth: it hiccups,

if only for a moment. 

and your laugh— 

oh, your laugh,

I can only die happy

if that sound

were my last.

this love: it is not quiet.

it burns in my gut, 

it needs to be sung—

to shout, to scream, to holler,

“Look, world— it is her. She 

is the one—

the one 

who is a full Moon

on the darkest night—

or, no— she is the Sun,

and I the pallid Moon,

and if I shine,

it is but her

borrowed light.”