WEAK HEART by AW GIAMBRA

laying in bed, contemplating gun ownership
in a city in California, a reality
that I hadn’t quite surmised

he had scaled my balcony
once before, asking me to open
the door so that we could talk

the appeal had left me open
to talking, so I made my way
downstairs, and unlocked the locks
all four of them, opened the door
and in he stumbled, drunken in his approach
to the other side of my room, he mumbled
suck my dick. suck my dick as if nothing had changed
since I asked him to leave my place ten minutes prior

when he wouldn’t be intimate with me in the living room
unless the door remained ajar, as if he were waiting for someone
to barge inside. anthony, do you have anymore weed beat
no, junior. beat. can I have your watch?

some people grow too accustomed to asking for things
some people always say no, because they’re counting
some people always say yes, because they’re afraid
some people wait to answer, and let the silence pour over the moment

like when my head was in between his legs, and my hands held his torso
where I looked up at him, and simply said no, junior but kept him
inside my mouth, and he just tipped his head back and asked
how do you know when you’re in love? and I said
you just know and he went but how do you know and I said
you just do and then he heard a sound outside, and rushed to the door
stumbling to roll his basketball shorts around his waist
he stood there, shirtless. a tattoo graced his small, muscular chest
from blade to blade. he quickly gathered his things, and made his
way into the night of our quiet little cul-de-sac. I locked up.

so, he stood in this apartment for the second time in one night, asking me to
suck his dick, and I said I thought you wanted to talk. He kept repeating himself
and so I asked him to leave again. I locked up again.

Now, I sleep with the porch-light on
trying to keep the boy away from my door-step
where he’s rung the doorbell repeatedly
where he’s called out my name,
his voice shadowing over the music (anthony!)
that I play when I get home from work anthony!

Now, I keep a light blaring on my balcony
while a bottle of sake keeps me company
and a sleep mask lays by my bedside
while I descend the stairs, peek through the blinds
wondering if he’ll be back this time

I have been awaking with a weak heart
with a stinging pain pinging me throughout the day.
It reminds me that love comes in different forms
and that it’s easy to lose it all

when you’re the fool who lets the boy inside


AW Giambra (@awgiambra) was born July 23, 1992 in New Jersey. He moved to Los Angeles in the summer of 2016. Writing can be found on Things Created by People, Moloko House, Seafoam Magazine, with other publications forthcoming. He finished his undergraduate studies from NYU in 2014. He’s currently with Writers at Work, led by Terry Wolverton. AW self-published Wannabe, his first collection of poems on September 25, 2017.

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