You stopped, and said ours was the love that dared not speak its name,
Then turned to go, and walked away, and hung your head in shame,
And did not wait to see my face, or hearken to my cry,
You were so sure of our disgrace you fled from my reply.
Yet I insist that you desist, and stop to listen well:
I won’t go on without you--my life, devoid, is hell.
You think I care, all are aware of what we have become?
Our love is true, our life’s our due, let none doubt we are one.
But know full well, I cannot dwell in this uncertainty;
The choice is yours, stand fast or go, but this I shall not flee.
I know our love is strong and pure: I cannot hesitate
To stand alone, if this need be, before the strong and great.
They’ll call us fags, or kinks, or queers, and claim our love’s for freaks.
I’ll cry, our name is never Shame, and one I’ll always speak!


a reply to “Two Loves”  by Lord Alfred Douglas, with a bow to Oscar Wilde 



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