I have created a dystopian landscape
between the temples I will to collapse,
ill-fitted romanticism stretched over
my fragile, bent form ---
and the words of a dead poet
are stuck in my throat,
stifling, searching for a way out
that is not there
broken sanctuaries & crumbling statues
lay at my feet,
but I am drunk on daydreams ---
I am dizzyingly in love with summer
and the fruit of your tongue.
with crushed rose & brain stems,
and your glistening teeth
puncturing the flesh of my palm,
with the shards of a mirror
being pressed against my sides,
forced to confront the dust
coating my body
turned over gravestones
catch of the cuff of my sleeves
as I worship with stardust lips
the world that is not there,
and yet it is so darlingly perfect,
this way of living,
this way of knowing I am wrong
but the rose-tinted glasses do not break,
the realism stuck between
every other word does not break form,
and I do not break my prayer
as I ask the ones above me
how do i fall in love & out of love so easily?
