Two Boys

I
I remember hiding on the roof of a school,
with epic indignance,

clipping a coupon of moon
for my indulgence,

sending seasons of moss
tricking down the pitch,

I remember it.
And yet,

the anger though surely lucid and terribly brave,
is utterly lost.

Unlike the sound
of you calling me in the crackling frost.


II
I remember being small enough
to fit my cheek in the dint of your neck,

your adult breath sweet and strong as tea
and though we were meant to be

asleep

and I was warm as milk,

I’d chase the pendulum of your breathing

concentrating on

the out and in,

lying there and learning

love that can’t be lost.