lily hills white

la vie sur mars

jonathan.

i never quite seem to find the words for you, the first boy i ever loved.

florida sun, southern drawl, warm cinnamon skin that called to be desired.

you carried my heart in a bassinet, a wicker cradle you hooded in isolation. my isolation.

you rocked me with words, with mis amores and princesas. lies from lust-taken lips and promises of a honeydew and nectar kind of love.

“aphrodite would be jealous,” i’d thought.

she'd sink to her knees, move the clouds of venus, neglect to tend to her own terrain.

she’d heed to you; let you tear the pulsing cavity of her beating heart right out of her chest.

no, that was me.

i was sweeping venusian plains of volcanic mountain tops; fiery red and a star-gazer, the big dipper of optimism.

but, by you, i was pulled to your infamous wisdom. i became the ultimate fantasy of your rosy-cheeked nymphet.

and so i slipped, as if i was nothing, into a vast sea of ridged plateaus,

falling

falling

falling.

they say there's no life on mars.

so i beg to ask, and venus?