Turning Idolator - Chapter 7

Chapter Six: Borrowed Light

In such cases where feelings run deep, problems unsolved can generally be ignored amicably and amiably. This is a truth inherent to the ginger science of compromising; or in this case, uncompromising. Things are as they are; but the thought of reality pivots us back to our security tethers, our familiar poisons, which continue to root out any forward gains. Reversion always trumps revision; but, frankly, no such constipated rule can trump two men in love.

In the spirit of amiability, the Provincetown vacation came to an end. Tom and Phil even took a side trip to Nantucket to see the old whaling town in all its propriety. They sat through lectures, touched whalebone, poured over maps and even tried their hand at balancing a harpoon. It was a bright day of mansion touring, fine dining and gawking at the upscale heterosexuals - Muffy and the like.

Tom was sad to see Phil leave him on the first weekend back. It was a quick leave at that. Flo came over and scurried Tom away to a movie; while, Sprakie expedited Phil's departure with a quick pack and exit. Tom came home to emptiness; and dismissed Flo's self-invitation to stay a few days. Phil had no trouble getting his former job back. After all, Sprakie was the star of manluve.com. He even arranged with the management to have him and Phil make love together - in real-time - live. Phil was not amenable at first; but agreed to it, if everyone could wait until he reestablished himself on-line. That took a few more weeks. The date for this event was set. It was to be on his birthday.

On that day, Tom Dye was particularly melancholy. He had planned Phil’s birthday for months. Now, in time's vacillation, he had empty space and empty hours cramming his mind and apartment. He tried to banish Phil from his thoughts that evening, but it was too difficult. He made some popcorn and gorged himself. He stopped short of the bottle. Instead, he drew on Melville, opening the great tome and reading in spurts.

"I wonder what he's doing for his birthday?" thought Tom. "I bet he's working. Birthday. 21! When I was 21, we were still in Vietnam and wore leisure suits."

He returned his attentions to the book:

"Upon waking the next morning about daylight, I found Queequeg's arm thrown over me in the most loving and affectionate manner. You had almost thought I had been his wife. Now, Queequeg is my fellow man. And what do I wish that this Queequeg would do to me? Why, unite with me in my particular Presbyterian form of worship. Consequently, I must unite with him in his; ergo, I must turn idolater."

". . .and I got him a gift," said Tom. "And he'll never see it."

On the coffee table was a handsome book - Ars Cetacean!

"What wonders we have here," said Tom. "And he'll never see it."

Across town, at manluv.com, Sprakie was preparing for the evening show. He sat before the computer adjusting his props. Max Ballard popped in.

"Sprakie, who’s on with you tonight?" asked Max. "Phil?"

"Yep" said Sprakie unusually subdued. "You haven't seen him yet, have you?"

"Nope, I'll keep a lookout."

Max popped out.

"C'mon Phil - you're late."

Sprakie began to strip.

"These dudes will be ready for us, tonight," he said to the dimmed camera. "I'm ready for you. I am. Jesus Marie! I am so happy he's back. I did miss him so. That Tom guy wasn't a bad sort. I kinda feel sorry for him, but not too sorry. After all, that wasn't going anywhere - and me and Phil, we're just like made for each other."

"I really miss him," said Tom to the living room ceiling. "There's a deep pit in my stomach and ache . . . "

"I ache for him," thought Sprakie. "I can finally have him on my own terms - here in the studio. This is my dream come true . . ."

"Those dreamy eyes and memories of his laugh," said Tom. "They lift my soul and make me young and alive."

"I am alive for his touch," thought Sprakie, "his very touch . . ."

"I had never been so alive in my life," said Tom. "Never been so. But now . . ."

Phil came into the cam compartment. He moped and sighed.

"It's about time you got here," said Sprakie. "Did you turn out the lights before you left the apartment?"

"Yes," said Phil.

"I don't own shares in ConEd, you know."

Tom’s reverie mustered. He pushed the book aside and searched his desk for a particular poem.

"Here it is," he said.

"Are you ready for this tonight?" asked Sprakie. "You've never done one of these duo sessions with me. Mmmmm they're in for a treat. And so are we."

"I'll survive," said Phil.

"Hey, they don't pay for gloomy Guses. You better be bright and merry."

"Don't worry. I am a professional."

Phil began to strip, slow and pensively, while Tom recited the work he had found:

"Ring me with young hearts -
Songs green with remembrance,
But not so green to be mowed -
Scarlet hussies
With laughter on their breath -
And liquor too,
For they know what I have forgotten
And I need to know again."

"I thought we'd begin with just a little chat with the regulars," said Sprakie. "You know tease 'em a bit. Then, each of us could do a little strip number."

"Ring me with fiery youth,
Dancing boys who know their stuff -
Who know what I know -
That life is invincible
And infinite."

"Then" said Sprakie. "Shit! You're so moody tonight."

Phil smiled a broad uncanny smile.

"There," he said, "is that better?"

"I don't know. I'll warm up the cam."

"And when I whisper the truth to them
They laugh at my falling body
But laugh with my seeking soul
And hold me fast to the lies of youth
Which I need to remember
In this life of infinite laughter."

Tom's lips quivered on this last line. He could take it no more. All resistance was thrown to the wind. He went to the computer and fired it up.

"Fuck it," he said. "I need to see him. Even if I can't have him. I need to see him."

"OK Boys," said Sprakie putting his fingers to the keyboard.

"Sprakie says, Hi all!"

"Tdye says, Robert!"

"Shit. He's on-line."

"Sprakie says, Hey dude. Glutton for punishment?"

"Who's that, Sprakie?" said Phil. "Who's on-line?"

"No one."

"Tdye says, Sprakie, I see him. Tell him I'm here."

"You know Phil, hon," said Sprakie, "I forgot my lube. Could you . . ."

Phil stared at the screen.

"It's Tee. Sprakie let me sit there."

"No, ma'am, that would be a mistake."

Phil lifted Sprakie out of the seat by his shoulders and sat.

"Tdye says Ismael."

"Philip says, Tee."

"Tdye says, Just wanted to say Happy Birthday."

"It's your Birthday?" said Sprakie.

"Philip says, Much appreciated. Now they all know, we'll be getting click upon click."

"Tdye says, LOL."

"Philip says, Laughing again?"

"Phil, we're supposed to be working here," said Sprakie very upset. "This isn't the lonely-hearts club. It's the pay as you go society - and this much pathos will certainly drive this session into the red."

"Philip says, Need to work Tom."

"Tdye says, I understand - but it was good to . . ."

"Philip says, I have missed you."

"Jesus Marie!"

Sprakie physically threw Phil off the seat and pushed him backward to the wall.

"Tdye says, Sprakie let him be."

"Sprakie says, Fuck off, Tom."

"Sprakie, don't! Don't!" cried Phil. "I can't. I love him so. I love him so."

Phil wept so much that Sprakie had no choice but to relinquish the seat. Phil sat before the cam trying to recompose.

"Tdye says, Shit, someone's at the door."

"Just a minute!" Tom shouted.

"Tdye says, Are you All right?"

"Philip say, Tee, I'm coming home. Coming home right now."

Phil reached for his clothes and prepared to leave. Tom answered the door. It was Florian.

"Oh, Flo. Come in - sit down - I'm on-line."

"That again?" said Flo.

"Phil, you can't leave in the middle of a gig!" said Sprakie. "What am I supposed to do! Where are you going?"

"Home."

"So I forgot your birthday - big deal."

"Not your place," said Phil. "My real home!"

"Him!" said Sprakie. "Phil, honey. You'll only come to the same place time and again. Phil!"

"Don't Phil me. Call me Ismael."

He slammed the door as he left leaving a very upset Sprakie in front of the cams.

"Shit, this thing is still on," he said switching it off.

Sprakie wept.

"Flo, now what?" said Tom. "They're off-line now."

"It's a good thing. You're too addicted to those twinkies. I will say one thing, since you dumped that little caboose, you're writing has improved."

"How would you know that? It's only been a few weeks."

"I know," said Flo, riffling through the work on Tom's desk. "Look at this stuff. It's pretty thin compared to what you sent me earlier in the week."

"But, I just wrote that now."

"Bullshit," said Flow. "Don't start lying now. Don't bullshit me! These were in P'Town. And I judged it to be pretty thin stuff."

Tom raised his brow and thought deeply.

"Bullshit, you say," said Tom. "I guess you caught me in a little fib. So you were able to look at some of these while we were in P'town. Funny, you never mentioned it before."

"Well, I didn't think I'd get to ever see them," said Flo. "They were a bit watery and sunless. I think it's good that we're back to normal."

"We're back to normal?" asked Tom pointedly. "I hear a WE in that remark, as if we we're a WE."

"Well, whether we're together or not," said Flo, "we are soul mates, deeply devoted to each other's interests. I mean, we would never do anything to harm each other - and are always on the look-out for each other's interests. So, we are a WE of some kind."

"True," said Tom. "But do you want to know what I think? Brace yourself. Do you want to know?"

Flo looked about for some route to escape. But stood his ground and assented.

"I think," said Tom, "you have, in your sick little mind, that we are a couple. And I think that you can't grasp the truth that you are driving me crazy."

"How can you say that?" said Flo. "How can you possibly say such a thing to me. I am always there for you. I am!"

"You are always there!" said Tom. "True. There and there and there and there."

"O God, I'm not hearing this from you. I'm not!"

"That's the problem, Flo," said Tom, "You don't hear."

Flo began to shake and bubble.

"You can't turn me away like this, Tee. You can't. You light up my life. If you weren't so wonderful for me --- to me --- I don't know what I'd do."

"Now don't get into a panic."

"A panic!" said Flo in a panic. "You say a panic! You are throwing out our time together as if it were some footnote in our lives."

"Flo. Listen. You can't have what I won't give. You can't take what I haven't available for you. At base, we're friends. But you want it all - never a small bit. And it's my fault that I have let you proceed this way. I admit it."

"So you're telling me, it's over between us!"

"Flo, it can't be over, if it never was! I'm sorry if that hurts you, but I have a new life to live."

"You're gonna find another twinkie and live another lie," said Flo.

"I have found the man of my life and soul. And he's coming back to me as we speak," said Tom.

"No!" shouted Flo. "I don't believe it. I don't believe it! He's going to have what's rightfully mine."

"Flo, compose yourself," said Tom. "Compose yourself and leave. You have done great damage here. And I am afraid you need some professional help - and I can't give it to you."

"But . . ."

"But nothing."

Tom opened the door. Flo spun out still frantic and distraught. Tom closed the door gently.

"I feel like shit for doing that," he said. "And he made me loose my temper; and I can never forgive him for that. And he was the one who wrote "BULLSHIT" on that poem; And I thought Phil did it! So Phil has never even seen that poem."

There was a quiet knock at door. Tom looked through the peephole fully expecting to see Flo. It was Phil.

"Where are your keys?" asked Tom.

"I gave them back to you, remember?"

"Oh, yes, of course. I forgot. Come in."

Once in, Phil stood nervously as if it were the first time he had been in the room.

"Well, happy birthday."

There was an innocent kiss. Phil saw the computer still on and sat down before the screen.

"Holy shit!" said Phil. "Look at Sprakie go and with Max."

Tom joined him.

"That could have been me," said Phil. "But . . ."

"Well, shall we watch them for a while?"

"Actually, it's boring. It has no soul," said Phil shutting the session down. "And he forgot my birthday."

"21. And do you feel any older?"

"Actually, yes," said Phil. "But you said you had a present."

"Yes I did."

"Did? You mean do."

"Well, I had one - which is here."

Phil took the whale book as if it were candy. The beacon brightness was restored to his eyes.

"Oh wow, what a great present."

"But I have a better one."

Tom retrieved the poem in question and joined Phil on the couch.

"What's this?" said Phil. "When did you write this?"

"In P'Town."

"Look, it’s 'To my dearest Phil'. How sweet. But, who wrote BULLSHIT on it! Not you!"

"No, that was Florian's little mistake. Go on read it. You know Flo is insanely jealous of you; and he read this poem in P'Town and wrote all over it. I was going to give you this in P'Town - but somehow I thought . . ."

"You thought I wrote BULLSHIT on this," said Phil. "This is beautiful, Tom; and even if we were arguing I would never deface a thing of beauty. How could you . . ."

"It's easy when you're in love."

"Florian has got to . . ."

"I wouldn't worry about Flo again," said Tom. "He was just here. I had it out with him. He's crushed; and I am sorry for it - but, I need to get on with my life."

"Flo always made me uneasy, but I hope he's OK. Sprakie is very upset. I left him too. I think you were right . . ."

"I know I was right. It is wonderful to have the love of others, but when you can't truly return it, it is a burden indeed; a burden to everyone."

Phil put the poem down and kissed Tom. He then sifted through the other poems.

"Any other good things here?"

"I don't know - you be the judge," said Tom.

"I like this one," said Phil after reading one or two.

"Which one?"

"Finding in your arms in the evening
The lullaby -
The sweet song to carry me away
From the day.
Down to the river's bevel to drink in the clear pool -
Counting the minnows that wink at our image -
Resting beneath the chestnut of our home."

"No one needs to know us or about us -
Knowing might confuse them and then they'd know the secret -
The cool of my contentment -
The wisdom of my power -
The source of my compassion -
The truth of my steadfastness.
They would know then,
And would envy my very nature."

"Hear the wind's sweet whisper -
The lull of the lilac perfume -
The rich gardenia balm
And the chestnut of your arms."

Phil kissed Tom passionately.

"I'd say ‘I love you’ again," said Tom, "but the last time I said it, you could not."

"I cannot," said Phil, "because to say ‘I love you’ means nothing to us. There's so much in those words that don't apply. And there's so much in every other word that does. You are all I need to be me."

"And you are all I need to be WE."

They kissed again while the city sang, either rejoicing in this affair or providing solace to those whom would befoul it. For whatever liturgy is in our subscription; to whatever holy ground we might bend knees, we will always remain at odds unless we turn to each other's idols and pay due hommage.

Turning Idolator

		Chapter Six: Borrowed Light In such cases where feelings run deep, problems unsolved can generally be ignored amicably and amiably. This is a truth inherent to the ginger science of compromising; or in this case, uncompromising. Things are as they are; but the thought of reality pivots us back to our security tethers, our familiar poisons, which continue to root out any forward gains. Reversion always trumps revision; but, frankly, no such constipated rule can trump two men in love. In the spirit of amiability, the Provincetown vacation came to an end. Tom and Phil even took a side trip to Nantucket to see the old whaling town in all its propriety. They sat through lectures, touched whalebone, poured over maps and even tried their hand at balancing a harpoon. It was a bright day of mansion touring, fine dining and gawking at the upscale heterosexuals - Muffy and the like. Tom was sad to see Phil leave him on the first weekend back. It was a quick leave at that. Flo came over and scurried Tom away to a movie; while, Sprakie expedited Phil's departure with a quick pack and exit. Tom came home to emptiness; and dismissed Flo's self-invitation to stay a few days. Phil had no trouble getting his former job back. After all, Sprakie was the star of manluve.com. He even arranged with the management to have him and Phil make love together - in real-time - live. Phil was not amenable at first; but agreed to it, if everyone could wait until he reestablished himself on-line. That took a few more weeks. The date for this event was set. It was to be on his birthday. On that day, Tom Dye was particularly melancholy. He had planned Phil’s birthday for months. Now, in time's vacillation, he had empty space and empty hours cramming his mind and apartment. He tried to banish Phil from his thoughts that evening, but it was too difficult. He made some popcorn and gorged himself. He stopped short of the bottle. Instead, he drew on Melville, opening the great tome and reading in spurts. "I wonder what he's doing for his birthday?" thought Tom. "I bet he's working. Birthday. 21! When I was 21, we were still in Vietnam and wore leisure suits." He returned his attentions to the book: "Upon waking the next morning about daylight, I found Queequeg's arm thrown over me in the most loving and affectionate manner. You had almost thought I had been his wife. Now, Queequeg is my fellow man. And what do I wish that this Queequeg would do to me? Why, unite with me in my particular Presbyterian form of worship. Consequently, I must unite with him in his; ergo, I must turn idolater." ". . .and I got him a gift," said Tom. "And he'll never see it." On the coffee table was a handsome book - Ars Cetacean! "What wonders we have here," said Tom. "And he'll never see it." Across town, at manluv.com, Sprakie was preparing for the evening show. He sat before the computer adjusting his props. Max Ballard popped in. "Sprakie, who’s on with you tonight?" asked Max. "Phil?" "Yep" said Sprakie unusually subdued. "You haven't seen him yet, have you?" "Nope, I'll keep a lookout." Max popped out. "C'mon Phil - you're late." Sprakie began to strip. "These dudes will be ready for us, tonight," he said to the dimmed camera. "I'm ready for you. I am. Jesus Marie! I am so happy he's back. I did miss him so. That Tom guy wasn't a bad sort. I kinda feel sorry for him, but not too sorry. After all, that wasn't going anywhere - and me and Phil, we're just like made for each other." "I really miss him," said Tom to the living room ceiling. "There's a deep pit in my stomach and ache . . . " "I ache for him," thought Sprakie. "I can finally have him on my own terms - here in the studio. This is my dream come true . . ." "Those dreamy eyes and memories of his laugh," said Tom. "They lift my soul and make me young and alive." "I am alive for his touch," thought Sprakie, "his very touch . . ." "I had never been so alive in my life," said Tom. "Never been so. But now . . ." Phil came into the cam compartment. He moped and sighed. "It's about time you got here," said Sprakie. "Did you turn out the lights before you left the apartment?" "Yes," said Phil. "I don't own shares in ConEd, you know." Tom’s reverie mustered. He pushed the book aside and searched his desk for a particular poem. "Here it is," he said. "Are you ready for this tonight?" asked Sprakie. "You've never done one of these duo sessions with me. Mmmmm they're in for a treat. And so are we." "I'll survive," said Phil. "Hey, they don't pay for gloomy Guses. You better be bright and merry." "Don't worry. I am a professional." Phil began to strip, slow and pensively, while Tom recited the work he had found: "Ring me with young hearts - Songs green with remembrance, But not so green to be mowed - Scarlet hussies With laughter on their breath - And liquor too, For they know what I have forgotten And I need to know again." "I thought we'd begin with just a little chat with the regulars," said Sprakie. "You know tease 'em a bit. Then, each of us could do a little strip number." "Ring me with fiery youth, Dancing boys who know their stuff - Who know what I know - That life is invincible And infinite." "Then" said Sprakie. "Shit! You're so moody tonight." Phil smiled a broad uncanny smile. "There," he said, "is that better?" "I don't know. I'll warm up the cam." "And when I whisper the truth to them They laugh at my falling body But laugh with my seeking soul And hold me fast to the lies of youth Which I need to remember In this life of infinite laughter." Tom's lips quivered on this last line. He could take it no more. All resistance was thrown to the wind. He went to the computer and fired it up. "Fuck it," he said. "I need to see him. Even if I can't have him. I need to see him." "OK Boys," said Sprakie putting his fingers to the keyboard. "Sprakie says, Hi all!" "Tdye says, Robert!" "Shit. He's on-line." "Sprakie says, Hey dude. Glutton for punishment?" "Who's that, Sprakie?" said Phil. "Who's on-line?" "No one." "Tdye says, Sprakie, I see him. Tell him I'm here." "You know Phil, hon," said Sprakie, "I forgot my lube. Could you . . ." Phil stared at the screen. "It's Tee. Sprakie let me sit there." "No, ma'am, that would be a mistake." Phil lifted Sprakie out of the seat by his shoulders and sat. "Tdye says Ismael." "Philip says, Tee." "Tdye says, Just wanted to say Happy Birthday." "It's your Birthday?" said Sprakie. "Philip says, Much appreciated. Now they all know, we'll be getting click upon click." "Tdye says, LOL." "Philip says, Laughing again?" "Phil, we're supposed to be working here," said Sprakie very upset. "This isn't the lonely-hearts club. It's the pay as you go society - and this much pathos will certainly drive this session into the red." "Philip says, Need to work Tom." "Tdye says, I understand - but it was good to . . ." "Philip says, I have missed you." "Jesus Marie!" Sprakie physically threw Phil off the seat and pushed him backward to the wall. "Tdye says, Sprakie let him be." "Sprakie says, Fuck off, Tom." "Sprakie, don't! Don't!" cried Phil. "I can't. I love him so. I love him so." Phil wept so much that Sprakie had no choice but to relinquish the seat. Phil sat before the cam trying to recompose. "Tdye says, Shit, someone's at the door." "Just a minute!" Tom shouted. "Tdye says, Are you All right?" "Philip say, Tee, I'm coming home. Coming home right now." Phil reached for his clothes and prepared to leave. Tom answered the door. It was Florian. "Oh, Flo. Come in - sit down - I'm on-line." "That again?" said Flo. "Phil, you can't leave in the middle of a gig!" said Sprakie. "What am I supposed to do! Where are you going?" "Home." "So I forgot your birthday - big deal." "Not your place," said Phil. "My real home!" "Him!" said Sprakie. "Phil, honey. You'll only come to the same place time and again. Phil!" "Don't Phil me. Call me Ismael." He slammed the door as he left leaving a very upset Sprakie in front of the cams. "Shit, this thing is still on," he said switching it off. Sprakie wept. "Flo, now what?" said Tom. "They're off-line now." "It's a good thing. You're too addicted to those twinkies. I will say one thing, since you dumped that little caboose, you're writing has improved." "How would you know that? It's only been a few weeks." "I know," said Flo, riffling through the work on Tom's desk. "Look at this stuff. It's pretty thin compared to what you sent me earlier in the week." "But, I just wrote that now." "Bullshit," said Flow. "Don't start lying now. Don't bullshit me! These were in P'Town. And I judged it to be pretty thin stuff." Tom raised his brow and thought deeply. "Bullshit, you say," said Tom. "I guess you caught me in a little fib. So you were able to look at some of these while we were in P'town. Funny, you never mentioned it before." "Well, I didn't think I'd get to ever see them," said Flo. "They were a bit watery and sunless. I think it's good that we're back to normal." "We're back to normal?" asked Tom pointedly. "I hear a WE in that remark, as if we we're a WE." "Well, whether we're together or not," said Flo, "we are soul mates, deeply devoted to each other's interests. I mean, we would never do anything to harm each other - and are always on the look-out for each other's interests. So, we are a WE of some kind." "True," said Tom. "But do you want to know what I think? Brace yourself. Do you want to know?" Flo looked about for some route to escape. But stood his ground and assented. "I think," said Tom, "you have, in your sick little mind, that we are a couple. And I think that you can't grasp the truth that you are driving me crazy." "How can you say that?" said Flo. "How can you possibly say such a thing to me. I am always there for you. I am!" "You are always there!" said Tom. "True. There and there and there and there." "O God, I'm not hearing this from you. I'm not!" "That's the problem, Flo," said Tom, "You don't hear." Flo began to shake and bubble. "You can't turn me away like this, Tee. You can't. You light up my life. If you weren't so wonderful for me --- to me --- I don't know what I'd do." "Now don't get into a panic." "A panic!" said Flo in a panic. "You say a panic! You are throwing out our time together as if it were some footnote in our lives." "Flo. Listen. You can't have what I won't give. You can't take what I haven't available for you. At base, we're friends. But you want it all - never a small bit. And it's my fault that I have let you proceed this way. I admit it." "So you're telling me, it's over between us!" "Flo, it can't be over, if it never was! I'm sorry if that hurts you, but I have a new life to live." "You're gonna find another twinkie and live another lie," said Flo. "I have found the man of my life and soul. And he's coming back to me as we speak," said Tom. "No!" shouted Flo. "I don't believe it. I don't believe it! He's going to have what's rightfully mine." "Flo, compose yourself," said Tom. "Compose yourself and leave. You have done great damage here. And I am afraid you need some professional help - and I can't give it to you." "But . . ." "But nothing." Tom opened the door. Flo spun out still frantic and distraught. Tom closed the door gently. "I feel like shit for doing that," he said. "And he made me loose my temper; and I can never forgive him for that. And he was the one who wrote "BULLSHIT" on that poem; And I thought Phil did it! So Phil has never even seen that poem." There was a quiet knock at door. Tom looked through the peephole fully expecting to see Flo. It was Phil. "Where are your keys?" asked Tom. "I gave them back to you, remember?" "Oh, yes, of course. I forgot. Come in." Once in, Phil stood nervously as if it were the first time he had been in the room. "Well, happy birthday." There was an innocent kiss. Phil saw the computer still on and sat down before the screen. "Holy shit!" said Phil. "Look at Sprakie go and with Max." Tom joined him. "That could have been me," said Phil. "But . . ." "Well, shall we watch them for a while?" "Actually, it's boring. It has no soul," said Phil shutting the session down. "And he forgot my birthday." "21. And do you feel any older?" "Actually, yes," said Phil. "But you said you had a present." "Yes I did." "Did? You mean do." "Well, I had one - which is here." Phil took the whale book as if it were candy. The beacon brightness was restored to his eyes. "Oh wow, what a great present." "But I have a better one." Tom retrieved the poem in question and joined Phil on the couch. "What's this?" said Phil. "When did you write this?" "In P'Town." "Look, it’s 'To my dearest Phil'. How sweet. But, who wrote BULLSHIT on it! Not you!" "No, that was Florian's little mistake. Go on read it. You know Flo is insanely jealous of you; and he read this poem in P'Town and wrote all over it. I was going to give you this in P'Town - but somehow I thought . . ." "You thought I wrote BULLSHIT on this," said Phil. "This is beautiful, Tom; and even if we were arguing I would never deface a thing of beauty. How could you . . ." "It's easy when you're in love." "Florian has got to . . ." "I wouldn't worry about Flo again," said Tom. "He was just here. I had it out with him. He's crushed; and I am sorry for it - but, I need to get on with my life." "Flo always made me uneasy, but I hope he's OK. Sprakie is very upset. I left him too. I think you were right . . ." "I know I was right. It is wonderful to have the love of others, but when you can't truly return it, it is a burden indeed; a burden to everyone." Phil put the poem down and kissed Tom. He then sifted through the other poems. "Any other good things here?" "I don't know - you be the judge," said Tom. "I like this one," said Phil after reading one or two. "Which one?" "Finding in your arms in the evening The lullaby - The sweet song to carry me away From the day. Down to the river's bevel to drink in the clear pool - Counting the minnows that wink at our image - Resting beneath the chestnut of our home." "No one needs to know us or about us - Knowing might confuse them and then they'd know the secret - The cool of my contentment - The wisdom of my power - The source of my compassion - The truth of my steadfastness. They would know then, And would envy my very nature." "Hear the wind's sweet whisper - The lull of the lilac perfume - The rich gardenia balm And the chestnut of your arms." Phil kissed Tom passionately. "I'd say ‘I love you’ again," said Tom, "but the last time I said it, you could not." "I cannot," said Phil, "because to say ‘I love you’ means nothing to us. There's so much in those words that don't apply. And there's so much in every other word that does. You are all I need to be me." "And you are all I need to be WE." They kissed again while the city sang, either rejoicing in this affair or providing solace to those whom would befoul it. For whatever liturgy is in our subscription; to whatever holy ground we might bend knees, we will always remain at odds unless we turn to each other's idols and pay due hommage.