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Reproductively speaking you're my perfect match
and your suburban promises of
mediocrity and valium tempt the coward in me

easily, we could be this
typicality – prop me up like a cardboard cutout
and I'll keep my hair long for you

and I love the way you love Mark Twain, patriotically
but I'm more of a Virginia Woolf

and I love the way your large hands
and shoulders
make me look so socially archetypal
You're my perfect accessory, dear

Imagine: you could call me sweetheart
and I'll call you honey bear,
apathetically.

and I love the way you love James Joyce, academically
but I prefer Proust

and I will wear your ring, legally
and you can touch my shoulder
or hold my hand even in public

I am tempted by the compromise of you
the beauty of your conventional promise intoxicates me
you would pull me by my ring finger
up out of this ditch of persecuted minority

I love the way you love me, Romeo
but I long for the poisonous lips of Juliet

So I'll stand for the stoning
and cut my hair short
my mother would love you, dear
but I never will.