I love a boy in sunless quarters
cultivating some unloved craft,
some exquisite obscurity.
I love a boy in archives,
playing bars for tips
smoking his solitude.
I am a creature of the world,
shriveling in darkness.
My limbs dance without meaning to
yellow as daffodils
for a long time, I lauded this wholeness—
this me-ness, perfectly-shaped and textured,
let ivy cover its walls
let no man past its gate.
But now, his wholeness beckons mine.
Its fingers curl like tendrils,
and we, in half-sun, half-barroom, entwine.
Yael Veitz is a New York-based poet and professional empath. Her works, which have appeared in The Ogilvie, The Showbear Family Circus, Sheila-Na-Gig, and Castabout, among others, reflect her geographically-diverse background, her work in mental health, and, occasionally, her love for her cats. Her website is www.yaelveitz.com