I remember when the most intimate thing I’d done
was hold your hand when you were sick,
leave the church when you couldn’t take it,
sit on a bridge when the sidewalk was too much,
close my mouth when I saw you with someone else.
and I know you never told me otherwise
but I know you weren’t mine any more.
I knew I wasn’t yours.
We still saw one another so regularly
(this address of mine covers about five young men,
one young woman,
I know we were not mean to each other.
I should be able to tell them apart, though.
I should be able to recall at what point it all turned
I should know.
The truth is that I’ve struggled with knowing what was platonic
and what was romantic
and acted on both
for a long time,
I still can’t tell friendship from courtship
if you don’t specify,
and if you’re new.
I still don’t know it if you flirt with me,
if it’s on my mind, I’m terrified.
If it isn’t, I feel better –
even if it isn’t feeling safe.