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Sydney Queen Oct 2015
I do not think that I am safe
because I love you.
You are breathtaking in the sort of way
you just never get used to.
The pulsing of your ichor heart is unhesitating,
relentless.
You are all red popsicles melting
in the heavy June sun.
Letting you rough me up a little bit.
I love you like a boxing match I won't win.
Fog so thick you can hardly see the ground.
Green on green on green,
and kissing with your eyes closed.
One emerald eye and the other gold.
Smuggling hyacinth into my spine.
We're going soft in the elbows
for having all the space in the world.
Your gentle palms,
your bruised knuckles,
kissing me halfway out the window.
In the low light.
With the wind chimes.
You,
sliding your ****** hands into my overcoat,
hurrying your mouth into mine.
I have. A problem.
Sydney Queen Sep 2015
You've got me burning away from the inside.
I meet you on the back porch,
windblown and beautiful,
with shaking hands and a racing heart.
It begins,
as anything worthwhile does,
with the chime of your luagh.
You stand lost for both breath and words,
and if I hadnt loved you before,
I certainly do now.
You love me glacier slow and golden,
though I am anthing but.
Truthfully,
you've never been good at staying where it was safe.
There is nothing contained about this.
Nothing tame.
Nothing careful.
Some people are born with soulmates,
and some people make them,
like a whetstone honing a blade.
Besides,
who wouldn't fan this flame?
I deserve to be loved how I want to be loved,
and I want broken.
I want fire-starved.
I want unkowable.

I want it here,
where dark things make a legend of themselves.
well.
Sydney Queen Sep 2015
Time stops when you're running away from me.
We are rising with the sun,
singing the moon to sleep.
Your voice is an aubade to the meadow.
We don lopsided crowns
to go out and **** kings.
The seasons turns before I wonder
if the wind ever won your war.
You tip your head back and smile,
easy and teeth bared,
watch the way I let go of my handlebars.
We have never looked so young.
You say my name like a hymn.
We leave peaches on the windowsill
and mint leaves on the porch.
Our own kind of magic.
Not even the earth has enough hands
to hold us hostage.
We lay down in the flowers
just to say something terrible.
It might be the first time I've spoken in years,
the way the words scrape my throat.
You dont need a reason to be free.
I will stop writing about summer when it is no longer summer. Maybe. Probably not.
Sydney Queen Aug 2015
I run not on earth,
but on blood alone.
By salt,
by sand,
by sea.
I can feel your wake from the other side of the bay,
pulling on me like a riptide.
I am looking at you
and you are looking back,
and the wind carries the smell of thunder and oncoming rain.
The sea things to us both,
but you always come home to me.
You are all kinds of too brave for this,
but I'm in the mood to be terrifying.
"Are you afraid?"
you say.
I don't know what I am,
but its not afraid.
It's everything, if your lucky.
I've got this memory of you,
throwing something foul into the ocean.
A wish,
a curse.
Standing on the white cliffs
looking like a sacrifice.
You told yourself that I would never be your weakness.
Love, its a little late for that.
This land will take you,
if you let it.
There is no such thing as faith, here.
All there is
is me loving you
and the changing of the tides.
The wind has its nimble fingers in your fine,
fair hair,
and the waves crash like applause.
You look absolutely godless.
I love you bloodhungry and harsh.
Striking, predatory,
fever pitched and unknowable.
I love you dead.

God,
I remember when I used to be afraid of the ocean.
i have no idea what Im doing
Sydney Queen Jul 2015
I lose my first life to lightning,
of all things.
I spend the next day
racing through a field of camellias
while golden hour twists the sky yellow.
They are redder than red,
like the crests of your cheekbones
and the tips of your ears-
even your blushes are incredibly focused.
I'm so happy I dont know what to do with myself.
I wait for you as you stand in the middle of the street
watching the sun sink into a kaleidoscope of orange.
Your back is to me
though I feel like I have never seen you more clearly.
You smile radiantly into the distance.
I want to care about things like that.
I want to love things, too.
My second life is stolen by fire.
In the whirlwind of my return,
I find you waiting for me
with an umbrella and a smile
underneath the willow tree.
When I was younger
I thought there was a piece of the puzzle missing.
You make me feel like there wasnt even a puzzle to begin with.
I want to keep you
but I refuse to own a cage.
I trip on my way to take your hands
in the willow-broken light of the afternoon.
You laugh with your entire body.
It's like I have never truly understood poetry until right now.
You are the embodiment
of that peculiar space in between the seasons.
With you goes all things bold and brave and beautiful.
I've got 25 lives
but I love you like I hardly have one.
I intended originally to write this as prose but then I decided to stick to my habit of writing excessively long poetry.
Sydney Queen Jul 2015
We grew up.
We grew into eachother.
I cant tell where I end
and you begin.
We make eachother younger,
braver people.
I look at you and I just
want and want and want.
I want things I dont know how to ask for.
It sticks in my head like bubblegum
on the bottom of my shoe.
Everything feels so incredibly vast.
How do you let go of something
thats already a part of you?
I say your name just to feel it in my mouth again.
All I can see is that October rain
dancing down the lines of your hair
and the gentle ***** of your nose.
Its the kind of thing that makes me want to take deep breaths.
I am storm soaked
and full up in love.
How fine and rare and beautiful it is
to simply exist.
yep
Sydney Queen Jul 2015
I am trying to be brave
and wild
and kind to myself.
I accept only the peachy things.
Everything good in the world induces fire and destruction;
two things you and I
have grown to love.
The seasons are changing
and every road leads
right back to you.
I love you with the elegance and grace of a trainwreck.
Like the sweeping inhale
before you let yourself scream
on the way down a rollerocaster.
I melt into you
waiting at the bottom of the bike path in autumn.
Erasing anything that calls itself distance.
We are the result
of June and midnight and becoming good again.
The clementines,
the fields,
good god, the sun.
I love it so much I want to hit something.
We can have any of it.

We can have all of it.
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