#sweetling
We sat in tall grass overlooking a small pond,
Where tadpoles wriggled and ducks drifted, imagining a swan—
Dragonflies danced halos in the air—
My mind came back to those wings,
Those gentle wings, broken, fragile, in desperate need;
Breaking the idyllic silence, she hummed music from her earth,
From her clouds, her sun, her moon—
She knew she needed more than a friend,
So she dared to ask me, with audacity and mighty naivete
To follow her into the twilight's mist, to the nearest stardust outside of this galaxy
I had to refuse; I refused desperately, because,
“Fledgling, I am now a forgotten hermit
Who lives in ritual and sound, resonance and bells,
It is all I know, it is the lot I've been given,”
“Sweetling, my lost fawn, let me show you
The dewy keys of the beloved carillon
And I can play my lowly ode to you— you,
A monument in the collective consciousness—
To remember your sweet grace when you've flown back to your nest”
She, who didn’t speak but chirped,
Gripped my hands— nails of promethium; fingers refracted light—
And gazed into my open mind, my aching mind,
Brought her forehead to mine—
We kissed with poetry—
In a searching tone, I tried to convince her,
Through telekinetic whispers,
That we could stay like dragonflies skipping like stones over water,
Like swans in a feathered communion gliding over the pond;
I wanted to exist with her in a heart-locked hush
Jul 7, 2025
Jul 7, 2025 at 3:12 PM UTC