He snuck into my room,
to look into my soul.
He read my journals
Studied my paintings
Questioned my bottles and boxes of queer possession:
dried hair & nails
meaningless pills
incantations written on tiny scrolls
memoirs
photos
and fabric of varied texture & color.

He wanted to know me.
He analyzed my external existence to discover my internal essence.
Without exchanging words,
thru only suggestions and self implied descriptions,
he collected inspiration for conclusion.

He wrote about me
From his soul to mine
As a gesture of freedom, and love;
An ode to creative madness.

There I found a light no brighter or less intimate than a candle,
It was recognition & appreciation delivered as a gift from him.

I thanked him with my loyalty,
in mutual acceptance.
I praised him too,
with genuine adoration for his gifts
both bestowed and shared.