If I were gay I’d never be alone.
My Sapphic friends have courted me for years,
with understanding, invitations, leers
of gentle greediness. My telephone
too often carries giggle, tiny moan
or sigh. I’d dance forever, it appears,
if I could only shift attractive gears
to like, but I’m still drawn to the unknown.
They want to think I’m body-straight but gay
in fact inside. It isn’t that complex.
The visions in my head are clear and true.
As sure as I am sitting here today,
I’m velvet-coating iron-dreaming sex,
consumed by choreographies of you.
I can’t describe the character I seek,
but I can list the traits I will reject.
I don’t desire someone dull or meek,
and I can’t like where there’s no self-respect.
I won’t pick poor unless it was the smart
decision, and though faith and feeling’s sure,
believers need not aim to hold my heart –
I tried indulging craziness before.
Rejecting needy in a paramour.
I don’t desire one who wants from me
dependence or a geisha-like rapport;
I’ve tried and I can’t fake passivity.
I want to meet a man who loves his life
so much, he doesn’t need to find a wife.
There’s no requirement I use the site.
I’m into it for research more than sex.
But I’ve put in some time and gotten quite
adept, perhaps, at screening for my specs.
And so, upon the failure of the first
romance, I wrote to one I picked with care,
and now I feel so nervous I’d reverse
the act, except my words are in the air.
It’s probable I’d rather be alone.
This confidence you read is just a blend.
I alternate – my ego overblown;
humility too deep to comprehend.
I’m flickering so fast between extreme
emotions, that I can’t be what I seem.
You write you long for company, the touch
a woman in your life can bring, and yet
I think our words provoke you quite as much
as if I shared your weekend. Don’t forget
to whom your pixel dialogue’s addressed –
your speech is strong but you don’t make a sound.
Our senseless selves are nakedly expressed.
We feel attraction where there is no ground.
I’m savoring this daily interchange.
It’s like a secret I don’t have to share
with my dependents. None of them suspects
a settled matriarch can be so strange
she’s sending tender phrases through the air
instead of pheromones, ahead of sex.