Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer

Boys Who I Have Loved

Boys Who I Have Loved


It has been a few moments since I’ve thought of you,
Lovely as you were, childish and girlish in manner.
Must I admit you touched my heart? Touched it deeply,
I allowed that, now it doesn’t matter.

Were I less human, knowing the dangers inherent
Of letting a young man in to steal my treasures,
Foolish I may be. Then you brought the ceiling
Down upon my head, and said, you no longer trusted me.

I felt as a knife feels, plunging into a heart, my brow
Cold as ice, I felt my blood no longer flowed. You plunged
That knife into my heart, chilled as death’s touch, sent it
Into that quivering organ, sent it sputtering into the void.

I will heal, as broken hearts do heal.  I own my own
Foolishness, loving someone so young and
Unavailable as you. Foolishness can recur, this old
Fool’s mistakes wish to not need be repeated.
Knowing as I do, I will blunder again with someone new.


You are new to this story, new to my heart. I do not
Know you, nor were this story leads: is it once upon
A time, as most fairytales begin? Or is it some proffered
Kinship that can be shared, one so young and one so old.

Your sorrow despairs me, and knowing what I do, I am
Powerless to repair your youthful woes. Know you
This, I’ve been a prisoner, locked within my addicted
Mind, locked within my room where love could not reach me.

I will traverse this wondrous time we spend, until one
Of us departs, from age or death, or as happens
With maddened frequency, some severed link in the
Chain, as said before, you’ll go your way and I’ll go mine.

Before that happens, this I pray, that we will share
Some secret story no one else has ever told, though
I must admit, there are no new stories, only twists upon the old!


This insane path we traverse together, you and I,
A pair of fauves, caged wild beasts, restless on the prow.
Separately or together, we instill a subtle drama
Depending on the week’s portending insanity.

I find you beautiful in repose, have wished and
Wished ere long to be the love shining in your eyes.
Now that is laughable, no matter how I dream, you are
Unattainable, as I have witnessed, so is sharing in your love.

I no longer cry over you, as I did those many Months,
Sobbing like a wanton child, a fool in the eyes of most.
But we do not get a choice, in the Matter of feelings,
They come uninvited to those who open their hearts and let love in.

Oh yes, I admire your poise and charm, your Handsome
Looks plague my mirror when what I see reflected back
Does not compare. But then, Paul, my love from compare
Brings Naught by despair!


that I might find my grace in thee

Oh yes! There have been many, names forgotten
In the course of time’s fleeting moments. Memories fade,
But I recall some loved from afar only in my recollection’s
Recall. Some I wished only to gaze upon and relish in that
Vision. Some things are not meant to be for my own protection.

For boys are boys and that is whom they choose
To love; and older men are just that, older men.
The two are compatible over dinner and a movie,
But where it cannot go is anywhere near the bedroom.

Boys seek out their own level, I am here to admire,
To love, to look or to befriend, until that becomes
Too brooding a passion. Haunted, I usually find solace in
Dark places, rebuked and scorned for my efforts.
Boys love boys and I ask then: who loves older men?

Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer



I have in a vase, Mikasa crystal, a gift to my mother,
Now returned to me after her passing, two sprays of
Stargazer lilies, young, bold, beautiful, and dramatic.

One pure white, bought as buds, that I might watch them
Blossom, opening their centers to the light.
It is said by those who speak the language of flowers,
The meaning of these fragrant flowers can be one
Of wealth and prosperity. The white variety can
Dress down to express purity and sympathy. We
Morbidly place them upon closed coffins, not daring
To see what lies within.

The pink stargazer, the other visitor in that vase,
Adds a new layer to the rich legacy of lilies.
Lilies, seen a deeply spiritual and philosophical metaphor.
The stargazer lily, unique and rather exotic hybrid
Adored and sought-after of all varieties. It is she that
Enchants the vase!

I watched them again in this morning’s light, reminded
White stargazer lilies characterize a sense of purity,
Often used as an expression of sympathy. There is
No more sympathy here, the days of mourning past,
The time of healing present; though many a night
I shed tears of sorrow for her that’s gone and passed.

The calla lilies are in bloom again. Such a strange flower,
Suitable to any occasion. I carried them on my wedding
Day and now I place them here in memory of something
That has died.

Sharing their conjoined space, pink stargazers, Symbolic of
Wealth and prosperity, and the white a symbol of death or
Love, Their beauty is not questioned. Their scent is that of charnel
Houses, in ancient Egypt, heady and sickly, but a reminder
That with beauty comes death.
Could this be why I gaze at them in hope and longing?