can you find me, my love?
the way into my
heart is easy--
as long as you
don't get stuck
swimming on the
surface of my eyes.
they are devoids of
white polythelyne
interwoven to form
a safe haven for two
summer blue spheres
of depthless tears left
to cry.
you'll find a laughing
ghost of me swimming
in those oxidized
summer blue waters
with chlorinated
paranoia in her eyes.
every night she tears
out the sky with aching
hands to see if they've
stolen pluto and hidden
him somewhere in a
galaxy in which she can
never love him enough.
pluto's gone.
pluto's gone.
pluto's gone.
pluto's gone because
i didn't love him enough.
[did you know: that her
lungs are kissed blue?
frostbitten by hydrogen
heartache and
para-acetaminophenol
as she tried to comprehend
the concept of him loving
her. concept of him lacking
her. concept of him leaving
her.]
every night she'll sit by the
poolside to watch the love
swans swim in the astral sky
and wonders why they don't
fall because---
"they're in love aren't
they? aren't they
supposed to fall?"
tell her that sometimes,
love doesn't have to
hurt.
that sometimes, love
feels like astronauts fresh
out of mars--- the kind
that feels like red sands
and shaky laughter. the
kind of love that feels like
holding hands in mid-air.
the kind that feels like
dancing in space
cinematography blurs.
like the kind of love she
knew before you left her.
and if you ever meet her
again, she'll ask you:
"how many constellations
should i devour to make
my eyes brilliant?"
and if you ever meet her
again tell her just one
"you really think so?
but... loving him was
like devouring a
thousand suns. but for
him, a love like that
didn't seem to be enough,
so---"
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...
