He whisper-sang the lyrics in my ear
while dancing to a Johnny Mathis tune
when we were 12, in ‘62, the year
of starting junior high. I swoon
a bit in memory and smell Jade East
again – full confident and insecure –
recalling rampant energy, at least,
that hid in song his mating overture.

So sang a boy, and now a gentle man
proceeds as indirectly to suggest
a bit of love. Last month his heart began
to flutter with disease or lust. Impressed,
he tried the hospital – they sent him home –
and lately he keeps telling me a poem.