Kaleo

Capture the moon, boy, with your skeptic camera lens.
Sharpen the image of an already stunning landscape
with your vintage frame, salamander pencil, spirit-brush.
It's weird but somehow, you're not as reachable
as the people whose pictures you take; whose
souls you cage, unawares, in an instant with a flash.
Are you a specter or a friend?
A stranger; you're handsome, but keep to yourself.
You think maybe if you hide
behind the scenes, you won't
get hurt or cause any damage.
It's tragic; what happened to you, really?

You don't have to tell me right away..
I'm prepared to wait, bide my time.
See, I don't give up so easily.
“What are you, a ghost?” you ask, taunting.
No, Kaleo, you're the mysterious one here..

Give me the moon and I'll make you dream.
Paint me a pretty picture out of a car-wreck scene.
Kaleo, it's great how you have this gift;
to turn pain into paradise, blood into flowers.
So easily, it seems; you make children smile,
even when they're afraid of the monsters
in the jungle across from the interstate.
You tell them, “Go hide under the sugar-palms.
The rain will make you invisible to them; the ghosts,
hunting the woods for mango-sweet bones.”
Oh and it works, believe it or not.
Those kids, they trust you to get them home safely.

Kaleo, you're my inspiration but I'm invisible..
Boy, you don't notice me in class; at school,
in our adjoining middle-class neighborhoods.
On Sunstrip Drive, you walk by me;
never say hi, dark eyes forward.
Oh just once, I wish I could wreck your self-control.
Just once, I wish I could topple
your walls down, those athletic shoulders.
Maybe you'd want me, if I tried a little harder..

To be noticed, do I have to say it out loud?
You're my type, island-prince, native-dream.
Hope to God you won't hear my heart beating
when we're in gym, play-wrestling and yet,
there you are; holding me down on the mat, your hand on my chest.
Give me a warning, will you; when you come around, unannounced?
I'm in a pair of ratty sandstone jeans,
my shirt off; cast aside, on the dirty floor of my bedroom.
And my mom's in the kitchen, telling you, “Good morning”
as some embarrassing song plays idly on my stereo.
Boy, why now do you notice me?

“Maybe I was curious,” you say,
smirking when I finally come out of hiding.
“Do you know anything about film
or are you just bluffing?”
Oh boy, you're stupidly cute, annoying as hell.
I'll prove you wrong, show you my talent is
just as bright as yours.
Different, maybe we are, on the surface.
Your friends would never know, suspect
we have anything in common.
But that's just how shallow they are.

You follow me after dark, shooting a documentary;
we travel around this eerie island,
looking for ghosts, two-faced phantoms, women in white.
You say, “You're not scared,” like you're honestly surprised.
I tell you my dad was a ghost-hunter,“paranormal investigator”,
dragging me everywhere he thought was haunted.
“I'm used to this whole drama; creepy stairs,
plantation homes, burial grounds.
Boy, it takes a lot to get me running.”
But to my surprise, you look amused;
maybe even a little impressed.
For once, Kaleo, you're not making fun of me;
a fatally awkward kid at your side.

It's pitch-black and we lose our flashlight.
We stumble around, finally sitting down
on a bench in the middle of nowhere,
admitting we're the worst detectives.
Boy, it's nice to hear you laugh,
see your almond-moon eyes shining.
“Won't your mom be worried?”
you ask, looking at me like
there's a possibility we might not get home.
I sigh loudly, try not to notice
the shivers running up my arms.
There are shadows of bat wings
over our heads between the banana leaves but
I don't want you to think I'm a coward, friend.
“Of course she'll be worried, but
there's not much I can do, is there?”

“It must be nice,” you tell me.
“To have a parent who cares.”
Kaleo, I've known you since 5th grade.
You were raised by your grand-dad.
But I never asked why or how you fared.
Truly, I thought it was none of my business;
unless you wanted to be my friend, let me in.
Now I'm ashamed..
I wanted you for shallow reasons; those
feather-black eyes, like night-fruit,
your lips against mine.
Slowly, I realize I'm no different
than the people at school
who ignore me, who I ignore in return.

“But we all go blind..”
We fall asleep; your head on my shoulder, slipping,
my hand on your arm.
In the morning, someone wakes us up;
a construction worker.
He says, “Get up, you crazy kids!”
And we cross the highway,
make it back to the city;
still misty under a war-paint sunrise.
Boy, you say, “I'll see you around”,
take the camera from my hands.
And you must've seen it; this look that says,
“I don't really believe you” because
you punch my arm playfully.
“I promise,” you add with a wink.
Kaleo, I can never forget
what it's like to feel tongue-tied;
standing there, dumbstruck
at the gate outside your house.

Monday morning, will we be more than classmates?
Island-prince, grant my wish.
Give me a  warning, please..
“But hey,” you say, cornering me in the hall
between English and lunch.
“You told me not to be obvious.”
Your voice like a whisper
of heaven; of all that I want,
wind on the mountaintops;
boy, you sure know how to pile on the guilt,
make me sin just to say I had you someday.

Years from now, can you see us,
riding around in a school bus to college?
A basketball game somewhere heated, somewhere dark;
friend, can you imagine me running by your side,
being part of the team that made you popular?
No, I can't, boy; but you say
I'm already in your court.
“We're the same,” you insist, wrapping a hand
around the nape of my neck.
Your fingers pressing lanai heat on my flesh;
orange-red-white, firelight, wet dreams.
But island-prince, I don't want to jinx anything..

For us, this is surreal; a weekend in your backyard,
a hammock, swinging lazily at dusk.
My hands at your collar, unbuttoning your polo shirt;
I've waited so long, suddenly I'm nervous.
You smile, run a hand through my hair, say,
“Bring down the moon, I don't care.”
Whatever that means, I'm not breathing..
Kiss me hard, island-prince.
Make time stop, slow it down for me.

Almond-shaped eyes, round half-moons;
you and I, boy, we're different and still they same.
People can give us all the trouble the want,
the criticism they need to feel important
because to me, Kaleo, it doesn't matter.
I have you now, native-fire.
I have you now, last Indian summer
in this universe of train-wreck romance.
Nothing else matters, turn me over now;
warm hands on my hip-bones,
sunset lips on my shoulder-blades.
Island-prince, slow it down for me..