discord sown in the fields of my own mind
grow to be weeds, strangling the little seedlings
that cry for renewal, for a fresh breath,
gulping down the last yolk of sunshine for supper.
they tell me that it’s all in my own head:
a mass of tissue and neurons entangled with
the steady beat of my soul, stretching and contracting
like train couplers reconciling cabins that will never touch
all the time, I think about your typicality,
yet having to think implies mystery.
how is it that you never look at yourself in mirrors,
given how you’re so god damn beautiful?
why have I never tasted pretence in your voice,
but have only heard the purest thoughts, organic and
some questions will always be questions.
thus I, deciding whether these are tears or raindrops,
stagger back into eden, crawling
back into the soil of late winter,
retracting my roots in the wait for rebirth next spring.
two white dresses at a wedding will command stares.
a change of outfit is not granted;
there are so many skeletons in my closet
that i can’t tell my backbones from belts.
i can choose to smile and wave like i
a rag doll pinned onto a cork board to be
sliced, diced, and everything nice.
to iron out my incompatibilities,
a creaseless palm clutching the smallest of
infinities that persuade me to let go of
cards that no longer serve purpose
for i am a temporary tattoo,
the last page of a calendar,
counting down to when i won’t fit the
days stretch into months and months stretch into years like
dough: beaten, flattened, pulled apart to mock the crumbling fool I am.
nothing has changed.
radio silence brims like sea foam in the concave of our ears
and we aren’t speaking
but in this moment, my love, everything is perfect.
I know to savour it—slowly, blissfully, precariously
—like justifying an expensive dessert by letting it melt ever so slowly on your tongue
before swallowing it whole in all its saccharine futility.
I look to the ground where our shadows merge. this is as real as it can ever get.
all you’ll ever be is another inane fantasy, my love,
a thirteenth fraction of a clock.
diabolical as honesty. forbidden as eden.
still, I marvel at the revolutionary alignment of our stars
because I know that in this moment, my love, everything is perfect.
we still aren’t speaking,
but being so close to you that the world around peels itself away
is already more than I have begged for.
somewhere in the defunct cogs of time, an inexplicable force
churns me on.
as perfect as this moment is, my love, I already know what is about to come next.
the ground I stand on will tremble like the surface of a lake before a storm.
the words I’m about to speak will topple in slow motion like porcelain off a shelf.
the way you look at me will tense up like the hind limbs of a starved predator
and I will be left a reeled fish thrown off the boat, bloodied,
if I’ll ever get back in a moment like this, my love, in which
everything is perfect.