we sleep in a king-sized bed so that our dreams have space to leap and float and sing. i dream of voyages to amethyst lands and my baby is swimming inside of katrina.
everything about us together is red — our heads, our hearts, our love. i like to dance to disco and he just watches like he's in a movie theater and i'm a new star wars film. i tell him that we should live on saturn or the ocean. he tells me that if god threw me into hell, it would turn into a heaven and the devil would fall in love with me, which would mean that there would be no hell. i tell him that he's full of red and he kisses me.
i call him daddy when he's hard and baby when he's soft. i make my voice sound like melted butter when i sing for him. i kiss him and the universe starts to melt. i fuck him and the universe emerges from the womb.
when the sweltering sun spills onto the carpet, he likes to lie in it and he covers himself in marmalade rays. and all we do is giggle because there's so much sunshine in this home that it makes the ceilings the floor the walls the furniture the soul look like a yellow light that glistens and bleeds and laughs and smiles.
at least that's what i hoped. but alas, my dreams are but dreams are but dreams are but dead just as he is just as he wishes.
he is cold.
