In Praise of the Mysterious Tobias Wong

So says the twine,
you made a rope of me
to hang your neck on.
It was almost wrong to be so loved.

I loved you like dove and cicada do
a summer dusk, a song repeated
in the half awake and half asleep
you were. You were a world of twilight

on fire, armed with hover and lift.
Clouds worshipped you, longed to sit
their bottoms down on your glass chairs,
kiss your drowsy lips, wear

an oven mitt. Reckon the strength
it must take to become weightless.
You didn't. I loved the tired walk,
your atrium full of blood.

Tobias, I am wearing your gray shirt,
a song I couldn't keep you
from singing, like New York
bringing you down though you loved

it too, my love alive next to your
lifelessness, hovering like a glass angel:
unobstructed, finally full asleep, forever.
Kept like a soul before waking,

so I keep you: boundless, unhinged, and free.