Our two hearts do not
beat as one.
The love song bleating from the radio
isnt any song we've ever sung.
Our eyes didnt meet
across a crowded room.
Our second date didnt involve us
moving in together far too soon.
We do not take long walks
on the beach.
We do not hold hands and kiss
while watching beautiful sunsets.
We've never made love on a bear skin rug
in front of a burning fire.
There will be no church bells, brides maids or ring bearer
to commemorate our desire.
On the day we did meet, Cupid
was all out of arrows.
Hearts, roses and candy scratch only the surface,
never penetrating down the marrow.
Butch/Femme isnt some old cliche
without metal, spineless.
It is the way we say I love you
with the language of silence.