the world explodes in
the infinite now

in this one single moment
I experience infinity
where I live the truth that
I am always connected to everything
we are connected by the great tapestry of life

my heart explodes with joy in
the infinite now

Into
a body
 of water
  we fall
                                                            ­                                      Much
                                                            ­                                   b i g g e r
                                                                ­                               than our
                                                             ­                                      own
                                        We
                                      fall in
                                   all shapes
                                    and sizes                        And
                                ­       carry                         with us
      The                                                     ­   ideas that are
    fused                                                    ­    together and
  make up                                                        what we
   are on a                                                           grand­
    scheme                          Of                          ­  
                                        things,
              ­                      we splatter
                                     and splash
                                      spreading
                                          what                                                  We
                                                              ­                                     carry
                                                           ­                                    to become
                   One                                    ­                                    within
              the bigger                                                           ­          body
          that we make                             Up
               what we                               were a
                  part                               of all along,
                                                          ­  we are
                                                             dro­ps
                              We
                           fall for                                                            An­
                        eternity it                                                        feels
 ­                      until finally                                                  we're at
                         the place                                                  we call home
                                                            ­                              in our ocean
                                                           ­                                   at peace
__________________­
             To become one within what we've been a part of all along

You were that for me
a little bubble
that encompassed me
everywhere I went
And it did not matter
who
I was with
so long as in the back
of my head
I knew you were there.
You were my comfort zone
my safe place
you were the reminder
that I was accepted
as me.
And now that's gone
and I am
helplessly trying
to recreate a mentality
in which I can survive
and accept myself.
But this time
my home will
not be
inside of somebody else.
I will build walls
around myself
with open doors
and open windows.
There will be no key
for there will be no lock.
Therefore I will
not
give myself the option
to put the key
in someone's hand
that is not mine

The moon witnessed them.
There was great intimacy.
Not physically.
Not sexually.
Their hearts wrapped around each other's fingers.
Their words caressed their empty voids.
There was no denial that the moment was surreal.
It seemed too good to be true.
Then again, all good things come to an end.
When was the last time someone touched you?
No, not in-between thighs or chest.
When was the last time your heart was touched?
In the background were victory noises of strangers that seemingly depicted the joy in their smiles.
They didn't have to say it.
Their dead cigarette butts and weeds that were stuck on their skin were witnesses.
It was pure bliss.
A blessing-
that's what they feel towards each other.
This is not a poem about lovers.
Soulmates come in various forms.
Love comes in many perspectives.
Sometimes, soulmates don't stay together forever.
Sometimes, they part.
Sometimes, they don't.
It is all in their hands.
The same hands the cold wind kissed.
For the warm to match with the cold.
For the broken to find it's missing pieces.

( FAH )

Lesson one: give your heart to someone who gives theirs back. And hell she'll give you her heart on her sleeve, with a magic that allows you to conceive, real love, the kind that others dream of, the kind you look above and wish upon a star for, everything you wanted, she'll give you more.
Lesson two: find eyes that embody a maze that you could get lost in for days. And as you gaze at each other, you are no longer dazed by anxieties and caution signs because she reads through the lines and untangles and unwinds knots others have left behind.
Lesson three: lust is not love but when you find both, grab them tight. Because for the first time in your life you'll feel as though you got something right and as you see her in sight and she sets you alight with just one look, take note of the tattered heart she willingly took, the time she gave up to read into and not judge by the cover of your book.
Lesson four: always hold the door but never hold back. Hold the door for opportunity and unity in a way you could never construe existed, because within moments she'll have your eyes misted, your vision twisted, into the future, you see yourselves sharing, and those walls that she's tearing down will form new foundations for you to find your own ground.
Lesson five: tell her everyday how beautiful you think she is. Because with every day that passes, through each lens of her glasses she'll develop a tainted view and this time it's up to you to offer her your eyes, to help her see and realise, her beauty inside. Inside the body you adore, the woman you'd do anything for.
Lesson six: love is meant to last. So run her a bath, fill up her glass, do the dishes, commend her wishes, lay her fears to rest as she curls into your chest, calm the wars in her mind, undo and unwind with the love that you find in a fountain overflowing with her name, show her your game, not now but for forever, that whatever the weather, you will be there, show her you care and if you tried you couldn't care any more, tell her every day what you're grateful for.
Lesson seven: draw a line under the faults your find for she is only human too, let her know you love her through and through.
Lesson eight: show her. Kiss her, hold her, brush your fingers through her hair and stare into her eyes, as they sparkle and shine as the milk and honey on her lips and yours become entwined. For her make time, all the time in the world, because only once, will you find this girl, this lady, the one that you'll say, made you into the person you always wanted to be, who gave you eyes to see, only once will you find this lady, who will set you free, allow you to be all that you can be, and you shall do the same for her too, only once do you find the other half of you.

The time has arrived
to come back correct
to say the things that
remain unsaid

the futile mind
in heaps and piles
can rearrange into files
in cabinet drawers that
go on for miles
slam them shut and
give me smiles

we dance our fingers
over paper pasts
to understand that
nothing lasts and
with this freedom
I build my kingdom
in Honor of...

forever come what may
my shining face will praise
the words I choose to say

Drenched in the sounds of the silent voice in my head,
and watched  it as it reached to my sinuous fingers curving the sounds,
Reading it, did I get deluged by the density of my words...

Fume of the mystic air
flows to create
an invisible lodge
a harmonic rhythm
of knowing the other.

Sanctuary of Love
shelters the Kiss.

Received touch
makes up
points of  Desire
as flesh and blood
from the etheric.

She,
A fluid transparency
made of interchangeable
unique crystalline particles
of unseen color,
Reflects
an indefinable atomic structure
Draws contours of a  body
that subtly shapes along the kiss.

‘Kiss me’
is a thankful whisper
‘Play me to a oneness’
gratifies the breath
along  her neck,  
lips, forehead  
and knees
an anechoic chamber of limpid breeze
rectifying bliss
an irrefutable awareness of joy  
a gifted  Unity
an honored desire

She feels the
colors of zephyr and without visualizing
grows into the derived equivalence
of emerging pinks or  jutting greens
she is destined to remain as invisible as
his’… not owned - not reserved
interdependency

‘nothing stays nowhere
a thing is not received  if you are not there
A blessing of the moment  is everywhere
you are drawn to where and what you truly were’

As the body gets formed
miracle gets real
As miracle gets real
the body gets formed

and mutates
a lucent gate
towards a universe
so The wind can pass

At the edge
she molds
to …
…. a
……….something new

The lover the love
The now at now
senses itself  
in white lines
a bridal delicacy
‘A flower’
tales say
with myriad petals
living at the edge of the universe

She reads the volatile coolness
of the warm colored
differently sized light trace  that
the fumes,
the kiss ,
the breath,
the blow,
the zephyr,
the lover
has become for her

she traces
his ever expanding Trace
so that perpetually  he shall progress
for the universe
while she remains
and observes
as her nature requires her to be
as their dual existence is conditioned to
as is nature’s one
unconditional
or Love’s

She,  the precision of  joy that he creates for
the eternal witness of bliss
Colored by divine light
of rejuvenation
of freedom
of truth
breathes
at a place beyond thoughts
at the edge of a universe.

Dearest reader,


My name is Margot Dylan and I am no longer a ******.

I stared at Dianne staring at Frieda Bentley, as she dragged on a Camel Blue and as I dragged my pen across my notepad. I sketched her figure as she walked closer to Frieda, dropping her cigarette on the ground. Frieda smiled at Dianne, as she stepped and twisted her shoe on the smoldering carcass.

And they looked at each other. Not like how normal people look at each other. And Dianne smiled. A smile that was not like any smile Dylan ever gave me.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, with ******* slipping to my collarbone. The ******* tapping belonged to a girl. The girl's name was Thora, a brunette that smelled like bubblegum and 'don't go'. Thora had something in common with Dianne: They both recently came out as gay. Unlike me, both family reactions were fairly positive. In fact, so positive that-What are you drawing?

"Margot?"

I paused, looked at Thora, and looked back at Dianne or Dylan Dunham. "That girl," I pointed in their general direction, as Dianne kissed Frieda on the forehead. Thora followed my finger in time for the kiss on the lips, "the ironic one."

Thora Nelson, daughter of Cameron Nelson and the deceased Geraldine Nelson, looked at my chin and asked, "Who is she?"

Thora's cotton-candy-blues met my puddles of mud, as I looked away, putting my notepad in my backpack. Before I zipped, I grabbed the lime green marker sleeping next to my pack of index cards. My teeth squeezed the leaf colored cap off, as I pulled out the fetus, smelling the aroma of non-toxic afterbirth.

I asked if she wanted a tattoo and she shrugged, "Oh no, you mean I get to choose whether you touch me or not?"

Lightly pressing the fiber tip to her arm, I glanced up at her and shrugged a bony shoulder, "Her name is Dylan Dunham. Well, it's actually Dianne. It's complicated. I used to call her Dylan. She used to call me Margot."

"But your name still is Margot," Thora informed as her eyes followed the acid-green ink trail.

"Some people change, some people don't," I said, with the cap held between my teeth.

I painted her arm in lime hope, by the soda machines. My eyes focused on her pores that I imagined swallowed dirt and bacteria from the side of my palm. I could feel Thora disarm me with her eyes, after I had disarmed her with my words. Her heartbeat echoed inside my grasp.

"I didn't know I was dating Leonardo DaVinci," the words flowing from her mouth.

"I am gay and Italian, so it's not like I was doing a terrific job of hiding it from you," I muttered as I finished and held her pale forearm and bracelet cuffed hand a foot from her face, "Look: it's us underneath a tree."

Turning and wrinkling her nose, she adjusted, moving her head back and forth. " Oh wow. Wow, wow, wow. Meta. So meta. So abstract. Brilliant in its simplicity, deconstructing the concept of natural complexity-"

"Shut up-"

"The tree looks like an umbrella. And we look like we have canes-"

"Those are our fishing poles. In that world, we are fishermen. Fisherwomen. Fishergals-"

"And my **** is too big and your ***** are too small and our smiles aren't big enough-well, at least mine isn't, I can't speak on your behalf," she finished.

Grabbing her arm, I looked at my masterpiece, looked at her, looked at it again, and looked at her again as her smile grew with every glance. "Well, I can see how it'd be up to debate, and you're right: very, very meta. But you do have a big ****, and I'm not one to sacrifice accuracy. Speaking of accuracy: as I look at this green ****, I realized I hit the mark by dating you. Honestly, your **** may have its own zip code..And...I'd like to be in its area? Please stop me."

Her chin touched her knee, as she doubled over, laughing. I played with her hair, wrapping her bangs around my fingers. As my hands were enveloped by her dark hair, I found a scar on her crown. I imagined Thora's milky-white fingers scrubbing through shampooed locks, trembling across the zig and zag of removed glass.

I imagined Thora Nelson, of Cameron Nelson and the deceased Geraldine Nelson, hearing sirens instead of water hitting the tiles. Her slumping to the floor, as lather and water runs down her face, each tear a memory of being dragged out of a steel ribcage, onto broken glass jungle pavement. It was too easy yet too difficult to imagine her staring at the steaming showerhead. It was too easy yet too difficult to imagine her reaching towards a metallic carcass growing in flames.

Her hand grabbed my leg and I saw her for what might have been the first time.

"Hey you. Listen. Are you listening?"

I nodded.

"I'm in love with you, Margot Dylan. Like, really in love. To the point to where I feel like I'm in a Jennifer Aniston rom-com. It's disgusting."

I didn't know what happened between my exploration of her hair and her pale face studying mine, but, before I knew it, my blood shook and barbed wire nerves orbited around pieces of my body.

The ricochet of a soda can smacking the mouth of the machine sounded. Time was either too fast or too slow, as I looked at Thora's cheap mascara eyes and chapped, soft pink lips. She was the type of girl that could make someone happy not to believe in god.

"And I love you. To the point to where I'd refuse Hogwarts because of not being able see you during the school year."

"How sweet, I know how badly you wanted to get into Ravenclaw," she smiled.

"Sacrifices must be made in the name of love, you know. And it ***** because you're not even my type," I admitted.

"Oh, how tragic. And what is your type, if I may ask?"

"You may, thank you. And the falling in love type," I'm an idiot.

"Could you be anymore cheesy?"

"Mozzarella."

She stopped and looked at me, "Hey, but really, I'm in love with you. It's real."

"I love you, too."

Her eyes were speckled,"You really love me, Margot Dylan? Because I'll believe you."

I leaned in, softly placed my hands on her cheeks, breathing the word, "Yes." I alternated between staring at her mouth and her eyes, as her lids began to drop.  My lips started to dab hers and soon grab, as if soft hooks grew out of and connected our flesh. I found the corner of her mouth, the summit of her cheek, and each crease in her lips. Nine or ninety seconds past before I stopped, pulled away, and looked into her eyes. "Hogwarts is overrated anyway," I lied. She laughed.

Her face was red, as she looked down while covering her face, "Don't look at me, I'm a dork. I'm being a loser. I'm infected."

"It's okay. You can be my infected dork and we can be losers together," my voice was a rasp.

"It really isn't. You see, my face always becomes extraordinarily red after I kiss or am kissed by someone, especially by someone beautiful. And it doesn't help that I've never been kissed by someone I love. And I've never kissed a girl before and I'm really glad you were the first, so there. Gah," her hands fenced her face,"I'm just going to hide behind these hands, don't mind me."

I was in love, "For how long?"

"Probably forever, I don't know. Or until the next installment of American Horror Story, I haven't made up my mind yet."

We heard Ms. Calloway scold Dianne about smoking on school grounds. I looked at Thora and the bell rang. Her hands slowly dropped, as everyone started to move in blurs. Bodies gaining more and more distance. Inches became miles. Feet grew into light-years, and, before I knew it, Thora kissed my cheek and said, "I hope I see you later, okay?"

My hand had something in it. My fingers unfurled and revealed high school origami. My name was on it, with a heart or a ****-I'm the artist in the relationship. I began pulling on *****, the tips of my fingers breaking the paper safe. So delicate must have been her mysterious movements.

I opened it.




A pebble flew from my hand and blipped off her bedroom window. Funny thing about bedroom windows, they look the same at 12:03 am. Or maybe they look a little different when the person you love is behind the glass, as you do an eighties-film-esque pebble throw. Before my next pebble hit the pane, her bedroom light came on.

Navy blue curtains disappeared to the sides as Thora came to the window and rubbed her eyes. A second later, she was gone as I imagined her sneaking past her father's bedroom, quietly down the stairs, and through the foyer. As I imagined this, I could hear the front door being unlocked and creaking open. I walked towards the porch and a yellow glow escaped with a silhouette living in it.

Thora's left hand is burnt, but I don't mind and I don't think I ever will. She held my hand as we walked through the threshold. At first I was nervous when I saw her father in the living room, but I instantly realized that he was passed out, as my eyes found empty beer cans sleeping beside him and around him.

"It's not like this every night," she whispered, "he just has trouble with certain months."

Thora tucks her toes when standing in place. When we were walking up stairs, I knew she would be embarrassed if I looked at her toes, so I kept my eyes on the second floor. I don't understand why she feels this way, though. She has very nice feet, and that's coming from someone who thinks feet are gross.

We walked past punched in doors adjacent to perfect picture frames. Her mother was a beautiful woman.

As we approached Thora's sticker-clad door, she turned to me and whispered, "You're about to enter the only place in the world I feel safe. So, please don't break my heart in it and please use a coaster."

My thumb kissed her smooth burn, as I took my first steps into her bedroom. The light-switch flicked and her room illuminated. There were movie posters hugging the walls, pinned to a bulletin board were pictures of lost people and found memories. She looked at me and whispered, "I don't know how to keep people."

We stood before the side of her bed and I looked at her smile, "You sure you want to do this?" Thora nodded and I reached towards her thighs to lift the bottom of her shirt. Lifting it over her head, I looked at her porcelain figure clad in black *******. I tossed the grey shirt onto her bed.

My eyes swam from her belly button to her *******. My fingers approached and stopped until she said it was okay. Tracing her curves, scars, and stretch marks, she pet my fingers. Thora glanced at my hands on her ******* and then at me, cooing, "I'm sorry."

My hands slid to her sides, "Sorry for what?"

She shrugged, "I don't know," her eyes spilling, "Sorry for this," she motioned at her torso as she stared at her bulletin board and then at me before looking away again, "I want to be perfect. I want to be perfect for you."

"Oh no, no, no," I asked for her hand and then placed it over my left breast, "Can't you feel how beautiful you are?"




Her arm was under my ******* and her hand was on my rib, occasionally running her fingertips across the bumps. She slept with her leg wrapped around mine, staying as close as she could to me. I looked at her, in her slumber, and left a faint, burgundy stain on her forehead. I reached towards our shins and pulled the black cover over our fused bodies.

I feel like I have been in a coma for seventeen years and I've just woken up. If I could, I'd stretch this moment over centuries and use it to smother wars. This relationship probably won't last past my senior year, but that's okay. It truly is.

In this moment, Thora Nelson is the love of my life, and, in ways I don't understand yet, that is the most beautiful thing in the world.



May the sun set in our eyes forever,


Margot Dylan