i told you i was transgender through a poem 

you told me you didn’t understand the definition but when you did

you tugged at my skirt and begged me to keep myself

your hair was too long for a boy’s–but you didn’t let that bother you

from yanking on mine

now, your obituary is a go-fund-me 

with an image of sixth grade shirtless, smiling you 

running summer oblivion on the grass behind my house

your edges are blurry and it gives me motion sickness

when we meet again it’s in the municipal graveyard and you want to slow dance 

nothing spoken, but there’s a question in reached out hands

i accept (skeleton meets skin) and we go on childhood destroying,

sword fighting with sticks (our sixth grade side showing)

we keep dancing even when posture crescent moons:
you hate my music and i hate yours 

so we listen to each other in silence:

barefoot across limestone,

there’s no traffic at midnight only thoughts racing on road 

their headlights orbiting us like double moons 

you place your hands where your name is engraved:

your stone, my scalp 

and convince me to run away

i tuck your obituary in my pocket

and your hair strands get caught in my head