Museum Hours
“An interesting Picasso, but not his best,” I say
I really don’t know what I’m talking about
But I like being here with you
To feel your breath on the back of my neck when you walk behind
Wishing you would come just a little bit closer
And whisper all the ways you want me
He wanders on his own
And reads each museum label like an art history student
I am saved by his absence
For it’s just us now
To disappear within these museum hours at our sacred pace
Trying to make each shared glance count
When I stare into your eyes
I worry you don’t see my desires
How else to explain your delay, despite my patience
Of not pressing my body against the paintings
I swear, if the alarms went off and everyone watched, I wouldn’t care
The promise of your touch is my only sanctuary
Our time together always passes too swiftly
Before I know it, I’ll be back in Brooklyn again
Feigning interest in another documentary I didn’t choose
Wondering when I’ll gather the strength to text you
Or better yet, to show up at your apartment
And ask you to steal me away to some Chilean island
There are still books we could read together
Like City of the Beasts, which I’ve been meaning to try
And plenty of films by Fellini left to watch
For those evenings when it’s too chilly to sit outside
Most of all, your kisses
To make even the laziest afternoons feel kinetic
Whenever your presence is near
I have these anxious feelings
Of myself sinking further into this abyss
Plagued by nightmares of a stagnant future
More empty days of pretending
An exhausting performance I’ll always have to give
On the subway ride home, I catch you looking at me
I contemplate grabbing your hand and getting off the next stop
A crazy romantic gesture, perhaps
But I don’t know how to make an escape plan
And for too long I’ve been waiting on you
