I am afraid to leave you alone with so many contrasts.
Your red skirt and your five o’clock shadow
In restaurants they call you sir and hand you the check.
Your low-cut blouse and your fireman shoulders
I hold your hand and smile fiercely at the other shoppers, daring them to throw their taunts.
Your generous breasts, I rest my head against them
Your large hands massage the back of my neck as I melt into your kiss
I imagine myself projecting a force field of normal around us so no one can hurt you.
Your long black hair tumbling down your shoulders
Your strong limbs as solid as tree trunks
The startled looks and whispers of freak come anyway.
This story has a happy ending. It just hasn’t been written yet.
The cursor keeps blinking steady as our heartbeats.
Keely Hyslop is the author of the book, Things I Say to Pirates on Nights When I Miss You, winner of the Michael Rubin Book Award and the Golden Crown Literary Society Award. Her work has appeared in Weave, Foundling Review, Poecology, sPARKLE & bLINK, and Conversations at the Wartime Cafe.