from kingdom to kingdom

she made sure the locks in this garden just to keep them out.  it still is my pleasure to sit here seeking solace in a beast grown from dirt, from seeds. a dragon resides here just to tell you that this is not a place for princes, not for now. there’s a gap in the summer heat just so she could visit me when the sun’s still up, its warmth an aftertaste. this is not a place for princes but for blossoming. i sit here singing for her just as the kingdom awaits marriage. i am not looking for heroes. neither for men’s ideas of riches—but for roses sprung from fingertips, an electricity to spring. your goddess does not slumber in winter. your goddess dusts on snow only to come for me.

They’re asking:  "was it easy?“ like anything ever was. You want to tell them, yes it was an angle of the morning light kissing the sweetest freckles you’d ever know. One sugar-coated hand reaching out for yours but it’s nothing  like getting slammed into the boards. Two hours and a dozen and you are so happy that you forget.  (Everything pushing together to promise: you don’t need a reason to keep his lips on yours.) You say, “no.” It is another bruise to remember running for a man you weren’t sure that you could have. Nothing pleasant about  holding out hope with both your shaking hands, wanting for another pair to press them down. Play through the hurt. It is all in your head until you love him; “the only easy part was loving.”

Don't think about the fact that although Nursey is a goddamn poet and shit and is always trying to write sonnets about Dex's abundant freckles, Dex is highkey in love with the strange smattering of birthmarks and freckles on his back that are a perfect replica of the Big Dipper (the only constellation Dex really knows) and he is always tracing them with his long fingers when they're falling asleep together ☺️

we’re brought an uglier limb than asked for. but that’s okay. the muck is only the muck for the tenderness of a daisy in between our fingers. tomorrow the rain eats up our solitude and leaves disapproval eating at her petals. but you are what i breathe in spring. not the grime nor the birds nor the birth of a fresher bigger brighter tree, but your spitfire eyes that always gleams

so, think about this: i’m kissing you with the oven still ticking. like an alarm for when a dream boils over the pot. maybe a potion. apple-based. snow white eating her own heart just for the glass bottle her limbs are strangled in. i wonder if you are the sweetened child in this summer heat. what you’d do for a newer fruit.

You love him; It’s nothing like winter. He  could live for the way the  rest of the world freezes over but it’ll never touch his eyes. Sometimes this could be all he knows but there’s nothing wrong with passion, the snow still melts when they’re touching his skin. They don’t know his laugh when you kiss him in the snow. (His hands don’t tremble when they’re holding you.) It’s more like–a perfect landing. A few feet up in the air but knowing you’ll live either way. Inertia forgetting how to slow you down when you’re reaching out for him, there’s nothing scary about wanting. You say: “he’s not cold,” because you have him.

The sun breathes, this morning right where the snow is melting. A kiss happens when our world clears, rose-tinted but still visible. Nothing is realistic but ice still thaws in winter. A warmth settles over the people and the city forgets how it was like to go hungry. Snow will turn to rain but it is never cold. Wait until the shaky exhales stop. Wait until you start breathing easy.

They’re asking:  "was it easy?“ like anything ever was. You want to tell them, yes it was an angle of the morning light kissing the sweetest freckles you’d ever know. One sugar-coated hand reaching out for yours but it’s nothing  like getting slammed into the boards. Two hours and a dozen and you are so happy that you forget.  (Everything pushing together to promise: you don’t need a reason to keep his lips on yours.) You say, “no.” It is another bruise to remember running for a man you weren’t sure that you could have. Nothing pleasant about  holding out hope with both your shaking hands, wanting for another pair to press them down. Play through the hurt. It is all in your head until you love him; "the only easy part was loving.”

i’m blinking hard enough for  the stars to be real. we're  saying: leave the inertia behind. it’s always five planets forwards and three galaxies back; no one tells you about the vacuum ‘til you lie about how brave you actually are. but don’t mind the gravity. out of the earth we’re all dirt. if you hope hard enough you’ll be braving the taste of a stranger planet, harsher place. these aliens—they’ll be inhaling a different kind of honesty. they’re limbless bodies congealing in a newborn dimension, but it is all existent. this is a raw gamble, darling              but we’re light years away from home.