I thought: What an odd word to use for love.
I didn’t see them for a long time.
I said, “I’ve been thinking about what you said—for you, all love is queer.
You’re sensitive—I’ve read your poems. You see the beauty in all things. And you’re young, so beauty leads to love and love to desire. I looked at the cuts on their arms. One pain to drive out another. A new one had obviously been stitched.
They shrugged, all the answer I was likely to get.