I watch Ben dancing out of the kitchen sipping from his glass of water. He is beautiful. Every single muscle moves with grace and strength. He’s happy, but for how long? He seemed content with me, with our life. He is everything: strong, spiritual, sexy, wise, kind and gentle. He is my Superman.
He’s convinced that HIV is the poison, it’s not. He injects kryptonite into his sculpted ass. To keep from wasting he’s angry, selfish, mean, violent, and not Ben. He tells me I can’t understand this thing inside him. I do. I must be stronger than Superman.