Boyfriend I think about the possibility of our meeting. What would we talk about? He is slow at giving me details about his life and I don’t understand what that means. Of course, I do the same, only in my poems do I feel comfortable enough to talk. I’d like to see him smile, brush my arm against his and feel a tingle, listen to him laugh. I’ll probably never go see him, it’s too far, my medication might be difficult to get, and I don’t have the money. He’ll never come here. But I do wish someday he would get the nerve to start calling me his, boyfriend.