Apology over juice

In a context like mine, you are a foreign object
I am sorry to reduce you to that when I fight the same idea
that no man becomes an object, of affection, of anything else

yet when you appear on the street, in front of me
sporting a light grey t-shirt, sports bag slung on your left shoulder
I realize, you can never be just one thing

I do not reveal our street-corner meet-up,
but there are juice glasses to be had,
for smarter reasons

then where do we start to bridge
gaps made from two yeas of digging on the wrong side
of the tunnel, the opposite side of earth?

it did not happen, you say, after noting my scars
but these are just marks, I smile at you
what is revealed on our skin is different

then you touch my shoulder, give me a nudge
I laugh and then mentally note
you are using the word platonic far too often

I take in the twitch of the muscle on your face
ask with the eyes for signs of your well-being
then proceed to tell you a story,

once there were, days packed
with smaller, ineffective loves, laughs shared
a time we both cannot now openly afford

we let the words, the high-fives ring in the corners
of a small cafe we chose by walking, randomly
the same way we met, in past years

I am sorry that in a context like mine I reduced
you to a foreign body, an object
but I couldn't see you off without
a hug, to patch together years  of loyalty