one of these days
i will stop falling in love
with angel-headed boys
residing entire oceans
and plateaus away from me

the ways that their honeysuckle words
drip from their lips like honey
only to cover me
consume me
drown me

i'll cease thinking about how golden hair
would feel between the tips of my fingers
how their voice would sing
and reverberate within the hollow prison
of my rib cage
reciting rimbaud
rilke
camus

i will stop being tripped
up by the unyielding curve of pale
cupid-bow lips and lithe
long fingertips
tracing collars
shoulderblades
eyelids

continuously rendering me
hopeful
hoping
helpless