he’s as beautiful as
a train wreck
which is to say,
almost not at all
yet in his eyes, there
brews the storm of the
century and I fall
unknowingly and
unwittingly into
the slate-grey depths

he’s scratched like
a poem in the hollows
of my cheeks and
the surface of my bones and
even though I don’t love him,
I think it comes quite close

dear mama,
i know i left too soon and
i know i miss you but
i met a boy with
eyes like the river styx and
a kiss like a funeral.

dear mama,
there are no seasons here but
the light on his face and the
heart of the beast that
he killed for me a week ago are
bright enough to tell me that
time doesn’t exist in death.

dear mama,
sometimes he gets so angry that
the foundations of
our palace shake and shiver and
the fire in his soul and the
fury in his heart
frighten me.

dear mama,
it’s my last day here for
this year and he
holds me like he
doesn’t want to hold anything else and
i don’t know if i want to
leave at all.