between slow mornings and fast nights,
dropping the masks, sweet ecstasy,
I chose comfort, soft arms, endless quiet sunsets.
it's funny:
you've never been one to pretend,
but still: you held my bleeding hand
to the light.
still, you bared your chest, golden and tender.
this bleeding, thieving hand of mine.
I take your secrets, clinking like
pink seashells taken from the sea;
I scratch my eyes out not to see
the startling mess I've made of things,
but it's no use. I still see the fish on a string
and your terrible eyes, at times languid, submerged
but sweeter still in their shock.
and while all those times i was yours,
only now do we play a twisted parody of ourselves.
only now i see the bitterest truth of all:
there's nothing divine about this,
we will never see this through.
there's mean and ugly, and then there's us, taking turns.
in my dreams I offer you something that is not mine to give.
and if blows fell true like kisses,
my golden boy, i'd never have to dream again.
Jan 28, 2025
Jan 28, 2025 at 12:09 PM UTC
between slow mornings and fast nights,
dropping the masks, sweet ecstasy,
I chose comfort, soft arms, endless quiet sunsets.
it's funny:
you've never been one to pretend,
but still: you held my bleeding hand
to the light.
still, you bared your chest, golden and tender.
this bleeding, thieving hand of mine.
I take your secrets, clinking like
pink seashells taken from the sea;
I scratch my eyes out not to see
the startling mess I've made of things,
but it's no use. I still see the fish on a string
and your terrible eyes, at times languid, submerged
but sweeter still in their shock.
and while all those times i was yours,
only now do we play a twisted parody of ourselves.
only now i see the bitterest truth of all:
there's nothing divine about this,
we will never see this through.
there's mean and ugly, and then there's us, taking turns.
in my dreams I offer you something that is not mine to give.
and if blows fell true like kisses,
my golden boy, i'd never have to dream again.
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