"You say she's dangerous?"
yeah. she's marigold hues and sun varnished skin, and terra cotta hands and soft greenery sin.
there's this certain kind of ache crawling in the sunflowers behind her garden glass eyes; something that made her a little sullen, a little soft and a little broken.
"But it's not like she could destroy anyone, could she?"
i think she could. i don't know if it's true or not, but lately they say she's been dismantling her camillian rib cage under the sapphire moonlight. she's been breaking it apart in the absence of an aster lover, and gluing it together again with wet clay tears. she's been feeding the venus honey flytraps bits of her heart- the only medicament for their chronic heartache. they selfishly chew on them as she waters their rusette soil with her rusted love, her lies, her lullabies. there's a scientific explanation for the such, photosynthesis, she once called it: the process of loving and hurting and loving again.
yes, she could destroy someone: i think she's always been destroying herself.
"I never knew she was like that."
i don't think she does too. all she's ever known was to preserve her feelings in sun kissed glass jars. she taught me how to, one july summer: you soak it in fresh ripe strawberry sentiments to remember, and cover it in cantaloupe cobwebs as if it's something you've been trying to forget, and coat it in year-old honeycomb heartache and wait until the sun sets. and then you place the feeling inside the jar and shut it tight for forever before the bees comprehend that you weren't trying to forget at all.
you know, i used to wonder how she's laughing and she's hurting at the same time; the answer is in the sun hulls of her affections, you can ascertain that she's never been good at being okay.
"But you love her, don't you?"
yeah. yeah, i do.
YOU ARE READING
love; and other disorders
Poetry"i just sat there, coughing frightful swans birthed from milk grapefruit flower love to swim in the pools of midnight, as you (with your fingers slightly touching mine) charmed the half-crazed moon with a rare rosen wine berry into what we were: a 2...
