Not a sonnet, but clichés and metaphors in homophobic conditions

I’d like to write you a sonnet, but I miss you, like I miss summer on a winter's day,
And I've been thinking how I'm between a rock and a hard place,
That cliché, because you're there and I'm here, and everything feels impossible right now –
Like writing poetry and original metaphors or a sonnet.

But then you phoned, and you said it about yourself, that
You're between a rock and a hard place.
Suddenly, I saw the stars and the sky once more,
I felt your warmth on my skin, like the light of the moon caressing my face.

In that moment, all the things that are keeping us apart fell away, like rocks falling through the
Chasm between the cliff edges we're living between. You know what I mean:
Other people's assumptions, society expecting a couple to be a man and a woman,
And how couple's bodies are supposed to reflect each other's skin colour.

A woman and a woman, and our skin colours contrasting,
And here we are, between the rocks and the cliff edge,
And in the moon and the starlight we're just bodies and skin and
We're in the same place together, in free fall, floating, and now anything can happen.

Not a sonnet, but clichés and metaphors in homophobic conditions

In the cliff face there are different coloured veins threaded through the rock,
And different plants growing and flowering in the harshest conditions,
Fed by the sun and the moon and the stars shining day after day, night after night –
Beings surviving and growing, despite their living conditions.

On the phone with you, the distance, the time apart, the plastic wires and human walls of
What's called society and social media and everything else in our way, fell,
Crashing down into the crevice of superficiality – the doubled cliché of rocks and hard places
Cancelling them out, what doubled negatives do. Now it's just us:
Your breath at the end of the line, and here my heartbeat calming to
The whispered promise of our meeting soon, like a kiss, and a night together, after so long.