14: ephemeral

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think of it like this:
you make goosebumps erupt along my flesh.
i make a strawberry paste out of you and me,
leave us sun-soaked, draped in feathers, taken
from my very own collection. i draw an acrylic
mutiny against our parents on the skin of
your bare back, before you turn over, ruin the
paint across the grass. before i can say a word,
you've built an empire with your smile, say
my art is too beautiful for this world, say i
am too beautiful for this world, and when
you kiss me - inevitably - i forgive the greys &
blues & violets on the shoots of green,
arrest your attention with my fingers sliding
across your waves and twists of sawdust hair,
leave you, my canvas, waiting to be drawn on
without a need for any medium except me.

i pull the heart pins, tug, and the cables
come loose, wrap around my wrists, send
little kicks of electricity running: the crests
of your eyes is the place where i idealize
a future composed of you and me -
but somewhere, i know, the summer has
baked our brains and crafted the perfect
hallucinations - the lemons i bite into
shouldn't taste sweet and yet i think they
are made for the receptors in my tongue
that imagine things made of sugar.

we are a seasonal romance, a limited
edition sort of thing, and when the deal
is over and we're miles away, we'll be
no more - not that it is ever said, and
still, i think, maybe if neither of us
dares to mutter it aloud, maybe it won't be true.

maybe.

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