After thirty-five injurious, felicitous, inebriated and (fay-tiptoed) phantasmic hours, a lucid dream fell over me—-

culling into me.

It was heavy, creating
interruption and
altercation on the
hollow of my stitching.

I’m creating a concoction, don’t you know, an equation for separation and the make-shift nuances of odalisques. Stir twice, call true, this trumpeting kiss observes rhapsody and sweet. An elixir in the skin of champagne, (nevermore and meandering) in frivolous, chemical reaction. In this state. In this lack of state.

But in request, it is kept to tongues & prevaricate, the parallel creating and living all over and between. If I could, comprehend the malleable format by which I hereby surrender in riddle (necessary, pragmatic, penumbra that sits on the corner of my heart—o it stays, as in its tragedy)

Perhaps one too little sip or a sigh of a year later cause discovery of edible portions and the inability formulate sentence structures allowed for this blunder (elixir: fit for human consumption)

Ah this incapacity to articulate
I fell into reverie for a quick moment still here, castle in the sky

(do you hear that god forsaken lullaby being murmered into the clammy hands of grown men? It was in fact in the form of the touch and sip of the lips, rhapsody and sweet, champagne and nevermore)

I will not remember this in the morning for I am hardly here
Are my eyes even
open (marvel, marvel at this phenomenen) ?

I want to be eternally young. I already feel the cold in my bones.
Imagine this, me, it, older.
I’ll be fragments of myself.

I listen to all these songs about heartbreak but I’ll never fully understand them.
I used to think I did but I realize now I was just young and in lust.

I feel like time is moving without me.

I’m one of those people
that when they
love something its
to the extreme
And at first it’s all I want
I’ll eat the same cereal every day for two months
and love it
I’ll wear the same jacket
everywhere I go for weeks
I’ll listen to the same song consecutively
overplay it for three days straight

but then
I don’t want it anymore
not at all
not even

a little bit.

This applies with real people too.

I’m a mess.

I guess.

—-

in a stretch of dependence, i let myself into you.
holding you, with your jubilant smile,
is immeasurable.
speaking in moderated tones, with gentle,
we fall asleep together.

despite your insistence on keeping me near
you do not drive me away.
your archaic virtue, the unworldliness
is undoubtably endearing

the soft of your back is spongy, delicate.
so malleable.
vulnerable.

i can’t imagine
that i was once
you.
we were all once you.

i am afraid of rolling over you in your sleep
the air in my lungs crushing both of us.
you are hardly a person just yet.
miniature
just enough to mollycoddle

when i try to roll away from you
to put you down
you cling to me, tiny hands clutching and pulling
at my hair
my skin

i realize then, what it is like– even if, for a transitory moment
what it is like to be truly needed.
in that moment, you, the most susceptible
needed me
right
then.

stricken with this bit of humanity,
i awakened.

ambiguous in her desire, she swept
into the sky in an auspicious manner.
imagine venus, spindled together.
altogether winsome. that was her.

as though taunting me,
the butterfly began to pirouette around me.
oh to be in such a spirit.
tiny scales and kaleidoscopic,
varicolored beating hearts.
wings of impression but in symbolism,
with the practicality
of flight.
american lady, silverdrop, cloudywing—
either which she is,
julia was once the duckling in chrysalis.
the pupae in metallic sheen,
patient in her quietude
for the inevitable
sea change.

now
her cocoon rests near,
abandoned as she
takes to the air on the sly
such speed, finesse.
nimble with eve,
if she were ever to step
be it oh may it be,
would be on quick
and good
and light on foot
a dancer,
but more.

oh how i wish to be,
as butterfly, elegant and free
can she see,
when she looks at me—
the discrepancy
between her and me?

butterfly, butterfly, does she see?
she is all i will never be.

i am not a butterfly in the form of a girl;
a girl in the form a butterfly

last night i looked for charlie

in frantic,
i searched for him—-
only to find him
right beside me.

i am not sure
if that sound
just now
and that —- trick of light

was
fireworks
or lightening

or the sound
of my
heart

e x p l o d i n

g

Dear Virtue,

I was wondering if perhaps
you could lend me a compass
so I could document each and every sigh and tremor and beat
(you make)
I’d like to check if you are suffering from apnea,
or if you are at all, living. (What’s that? You are.)
(Just not au courant of-)

I was wondering if perhaps
you could
entrust me
with a
map of your body
so I may
pinpoint the location of your heart
because
I am
not so
sure
if
you
have
one.

Yours,
Deena

P.S I write of moral excellence but more so
my lacuna, (she speaks this name well) -my remaining, last swallow of
gospel truth
credence
reliance.

I have never been but veritable with you, twin gemini.

I will be sure to leave your books at the door,
packed away neatly into a box,
under the setting moon.
I thought you would appreciate that.

Somber soldier, encompass the nefarious with your sword
Have shame, sitting fainéant in such is the way of the sloth

Soldier dearest, I see magnitude in your eyes
You fancy to be an astronaut, with an (afterglow) minus the (day)
(oh lets let it be a glow, it will glow, it glows, that heart)
dream of that, like a toy, those lights-
and for fecund wealth, o you pray-

The suggestion of discovery is not beyond your means, this much is true.
Imagine the dark of a room, once the lights have gone out and
in the sky, all there are above are the inestimable galaxies.
Like the sleight of hand, each star creeps upon you, urgent cat feet.
Is this not your world?
You escape from this said war, with a cudgel you move away
each and every actual one of your susceptibilities

There is silence in your appearance, let me state is that of -
(the histronic missing, by choice)
so with that, I name you soldier.
Acknowledge this, and surface to this earth, escapist.
I see the bellwether in you.

I plead- retire from your shelter, so high above
and take up arms. If you need be, I shall be your artillery, your battery,
your gunnery, your rainmaker, scholar’ed division, your annexed regiment.
Your guardian, if it may be.
The duty of brotherhood (with be, the female to see) is not unknown to me.

So with this, recognize-
there is strength in both; hold your tragedies close, the way you would
a lover with the heels of an enemy
leave your specious claims in the air and take heed of your weapon
for-
you can.

i guess, maybe, just-
our time is up.

we can say this much; i am no longer fourteen.