when we begin the arms of the sun sink
in the commercial space curated into me
lightly burning your hands
as we build together on plastic chairs
the kind only i can witness
lend you an addition
a subtraction
but your letters are months in the making
they fall over in a rare, sober blossom
we walk to where i can take it
in a space that lets me sink
further into myself
into the subliminal roots that anchor me
on the well-watered ground
royal blue and blood red
the slow cinematography blurs the space
around you, a pale lilac halo of my creation
tendrils of the swelling in my chest i fail
over and over and over to control
to wrap tightly in my self’s terracotta fist
Holy, i want to say
but i cannot stop the climax of a crush
the tearing of turquoise claws
the strongylodon macrobotrys
struck by the unwavering hand
i see you carefully gather words
to place on the windowsill before me
a sight that wasn’t mine
when i fell down the well
of your bright magenta laughter
and you find a light-year of ease
in tucking hair behind ears
and the pooling begins in my fingers
i know, i say
the static five minutes
you find them
dusty in my back pocket
among the spoiled daisies
among the tired irises
scratching at my cheekbones
brushed away by loose silver
I forgot to say
the greatest star in the sky
scattered into all my pretty ones
the lamplight, or the dreams’ motif,
now the only witness
a serpentine wallflower
you say your speech in fine print
but the long waves of nakedness
the choked and gory fingers
the shifting eyes of seraphs
they are gasoline on the drowned
thin pages stuck together
such is my wreckage
but faithful are the magnetic hands
guiding the rusted fissures
in my chest
there is no bruising
only the touch of pilled cotton clay
a slight smear of cracked cherry paint
the ultraviolet tide coming out after bated breath
and in the resolution
the swelling goes down
this is not a love poem
but it is a lavender rose
and I clutch it tightly
such is my masochism
ornamental horticulture
and a light-year of bleeding
