"Darling, i had a dream tonight."
we weaved candy floss clouds into silky strawberry fontanella strings and tied them around the cherry wine cheesecake heart of my milk kissed luna.
luna wanted me to stay; you wanted me to stay no more.
you told me that this was a precaution; if i somehow ever lose you in this berry yogurt cosmology, i could always follow the string around my own vanilla vodka ice cream heart back to a spoilt cranberry home.
you tore the heavens open with blueberry angel breaths and promised me a pretty vanilla polaroid if i chose to come with you. of course i came. it's not like i had something to leave, anyway.
luna wanted me to stay; you wanted me to stay no more.
so i took your cold honeydew hand, and we floated up, up and away in each others arms, defying the sad rosé gravity just enough to grasp the idea of soft love.
"Darling, i had a dream tonight."
we made grandmother's summer apple jelly on saturn and ran under its lemonade sunrises.
we found an old telegraph in the cinnamon fields addressed to my strawberry retro heartbeats - a lost love letter after my cedar surgery stitches tore themselves open due to the fact that i fell too fast and loved too hard.
"they liked me for my broken heart, darling."
you stitched my wounds with butterfly kisses and red and white picnic blankets, and when it hurt,
i had to remind myself that our love was static, just like the line back to home; and that it was lovely just like that.
"they liked me for my broken heart, darling."
"no," you said. "they didn't."
we twist our rosewood ribcages and turned them into yachts. we sailed through the vanilla creme coated stars and the silky blueberry nebulae.
"they liked me for my broken heart, darling."
"no," you said. "they didn't; for who else could love you?"
"no one...darling. just you"
"Darling, i had a dream tonight."
we ran through the cherry blossoms of jupiter and flew moon lit kites into the wandering night. we sold apple blossom lotions and maple soap to the dust bunnies of the universe. we harvested fuzzy peach dreams and dipped them the white yogurt rivers. we caked the wooden ground with our wishes to smell like sweet pea.
we were lovers- or at least we were supposed to be.
"Darling, i had a dream tonight."
we watched the strawberry sherbet sunset on mars and at one point, i started to wonder if you stopped loving me when we reached the graveyard of the cotton dolls.
but i guess that if you didn't love me in this hazy addiction, maybe you loved me out of it. or maybe you didn't love me at all.
but regardless, it didn't matter.
"Ma amoreux de fantasia chèrie," you said. "Run. run away with me."
because in my dreams, i was with you. and if i was with you, that always seemed to be enough.
-ma amoreux de fantasia
chérie (my darling
fantasia lover): a
depiction of how it
actually was. our love i
mean, our lie i mean,
our lullaby.
A/N: I've been working on this for a while and was constantly thrown into the alternation of staring at a piece of paper for thirty minutes and writing nothing, and typing away on my phone like a madman on the night's late hours for two hours straight. To all my fellow poets out there, at what time of the day do you find yourself writing the most?
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...
