That night, you would have found me,
sitting in a tree and watching the fireworks
from the city in slow motion,
opening themselves like lilies,
framing the night with sparks,
fanning into the darkness their sweet perfume.

My nadir, reflected in your eyes,
I see the light of the full moon.
Rippling like silk,
soft to the touch like velvet.
What creatures lurk beneath those waves?
What jaws will close around my curious hand?

There is a place in my mind
where there are ropes made of vine
hanging down from the moon,

supporting a swing,
covered in flowers that sing,
I'd love to go back there soon.

His lover, so fair,
who makes her home there,
has wings that shimmer with light.

While he is asleep,
in dreams so deep,
she runs to me every night.

Transcend with me.
Make yourself believe,
and maybe you will visit me too,

in my grand delusions
the sweetest illusions
will finally make themselves true.

Shatter my glass eyes and allow me to see,
invite in the lights of the galaxy.
No longer koi fish, now dragons are we
out of the fishbowl and into the sea.
Leap over that swirling waterfall with me
falling in wonder through eternity.

If you were to undress me
you would watch
as I peeled off and discarded my wings.
You trusted the mirage
that covered up the void
behind my eyes.
My existence is nothing but illusion.
My halo is nothing but mirrors.

Drench me in
the sweet stardust
that falls from your lips when you speak.
I know you have a silver tongue
but I am already a statue-
if I must be rusted inside,
at least let me be plated
in glamorous lies.

Today I think I will
carve a little heart into my neck
as a memoir
of when you bit me there
and I licked the blood from your lips.

I keep my wings locked in a jar
So I can't use them when I inevitably fall.
Until their gentle iridescence decays
and they crumble away
when I inevitably lose my grip
on this tenuous reality,
and float aimlessly through life
like a snowflake
borne on a gentle breeze,
not knowing which way is up or down.

We are just
angels under the bell jar, eating each others’ wings.
Twin anomalies that annihilate each other-
Leaving behind the tiniest scraps of our existences
to be framed by a collector.
Devoid of context, tasting faintly of liminality.
Devoid of context
how easy it is to forget
my own purpose for existing.