I’m nervous,
my parents are going to meet the one for me.
I’ve never told them about the ever so crooked smile,
ruffled blond hair, a kiss through bruised lips.

They say I’m playing with fire,
they say many things.
Zealots think I’ll get burned,
that maybe theres time to go back.

Cheeks hot first time we met,
like they’ve been slapped around.
We say, I love you so much it hurts,
that our tourniquet embrace heals each other

We’re together because we’re the parts of the same whole,
just the wrong pieces others say.
But we stride past raised eyebrows and constrained laughter,
on to impending joy, ridicule, and our deaths.

I take his hand in mine,
walking to the ones who call me son.
Smiling weakly
Gay as can be.