he is the golden boy; he spins dreams from pale pink fox grass while sitting on saturn's rings, venus' clouds as his cotton candy and the milky way as his sugar. he dashes this over squandering humans, with their earthly possessions and their silver rings, in an effort to sweeten the sourness they have brought upon themselves.
selfishness is curse, he thinks, as his teeth run over the smooth expanse of nothing called space. his eyes are the colour of the extinct rivers that flowed on mars - maybe they were molten red or the palest of blues, since his eyes are both of them without fusion. his hair is a mass of hydrogen and helium, his fingertips the blue, delicate centre of a candle flame, and his arms are adorned with circlets that make up the meridians of the earth. he is wildly beautiful, with dimples cut into his cheeks as smoothly as water cuts through rock; tentatively, carefully, time wise.
his smile is something else, like melting crescent moons(his favourite dessert) whiter than a swan's wings. his eyelashes brush his cheeks as he blinks as flutteringly as the wings of butterflies, his candlelight fingers brushing tears from his opalescent eyes and letting them drop onto the oceans of the earth. poseidon can only watch as these pearls touch his waters and embrace the life forms surrounding it.
he is the sun when he laughs and neptune when he weeps. his gold circlets shake when he sighs with joy(perhaps when befriending another comet), his moonflower lips forming words that no human has ever heard before. phrases slip over his intricate tongue and into his throat like water over an icy tavern - gracefully and unknowing of its fate. silver is his friend and so is obsidian; anything is welcome in his honey like world.
he is the golden boy, the one with a crown atop his head of flames, and fox grass surrounding his feet as he dances in open meadows. if earth dies and all that is left is the milky way, he will always stay among the stars and supernovas. when nebulae chase him around galaxies carrying flowers in their dust, he will always keep his arms open, because he is the son of the stars and the father of earth.
golden is what he will always be, forever and perhaps finitely.
≤≥
also this shit reached more than 200 views i am screaming
thank you all so much for your comments/votes they make me so happy and i
update : 300 views oh my goD
another update : #787 IN POETRY SOMEONE HOLD ME I'M SO FUCKING HAPPY AAAH
YOU ARE READING
paraphernalia
Poetrypretentious poetry. FOREWARNING: this was written over three years. my style changes dramatically, as does everything else. quality of pieces varies.