you allow the soft breath of winter sun
to loom on your face once more,
like christmas is here and this time,
strangely, the fairy lights will illuminate
and not blink away your life in memories.
you are peculiar that way -
one moment all consumed
and the other, ready to become everyone's raw meat.
you know, darling, there is visceral beauty to you;
even though you don't, i have hope for you.
no matter how you say that the galaxy is one planet short of being complete,
i am truly hopeful for you:
like perhaps not this galaxy but another one
is where all the moon stars of your life align.
and i see all of them align tonight
as i see blood seep into you from syringes
that once sucked it
when the curtains rise to forbidden dreams.
i am third-wheeling here, but
i've never been the kind to watch a show from the sidelines.
i've always been the kind who would
jump right in and guide characters to unwritten scripts
to make sure everything follows
towards beautiful stories.
you were reading about ecstasy today,
you were contemplating having gin,
you wanted to send messages across the universe
asking for signs that the world
is still revolving, still in alignment, still within.
oh my dear, you are the soft bringer of sleep,
like fingers which touch skin.
like rose petals could be braided into ropes
to tie you to me.
i know you would look for symbols between my bones
and capsize me in full in secrecy
but there is truly something intoxicating about dreaming in gin,
isn't it?
perhaps you should know,
you can be the burn relief
to her third-degrees.
