Lying in bed with my boyfriend

I ask if he thinks we’ll make it

survive outside these brick walls

or are we doomed till the end

a love without benefits.

Maybe we’ll be like Gaveston,

fucked over by our Edward

on lies, on heartaches, and on tables

or one of us will die

of AIDS, untreated syphilis

to become another Andrew, another Angel

who perishes of a sickness

we deserve then praised

in movies for battling morality,

for succumbing to our taboo temptations

and for “playing straight” to fit in

or one of us will be beaten in the streets

of Sheridan, Wyoming or Philadelphia

for wanting to settle down

with a man like Jack, then hung

on a post for crows and turkey buzzards

or maybe we’ll be left to rot

in hallowed ground, like Giovanni

after we drop dead from sheer queerness,

like George who had nothing going for him.

Sure we’re going to die,

I just hope it’s not because we’re faggots.