Claw me to you, keep me dry in this little piece of solid rain.

There’s something in me which still needs figuring out, the sums don’t add up completely. I know too many things without reason why. I know that I like the fierceness of belief, that I want to burn with something hotter than the space between stars. The rotation of the earth is secondary. Tell me stories, my loves, my lovers, my people who hold me and fall into step when I dream. Breath out of your hearts a song for me, something to remember you by when I’m leaving. I don’t need to think in braille to see you in spite of my eyes, because I can see you. Your eyes are lined in silver and your hands dipped in gold.

The time of year is marked down again, the sky blue and heat rolling off the street in ocean waves. My birthday’s coming up, my personal time of reckoning. This will be interesting as it never meant anything before. Grace is ending, grace and one more shot to find in myself the patience to come second. Right this minute, I’m in the middle of a petal burst like a storm of pink broke right where I’m sitting. They flooded down from his fingers to bury my eyes in wonder. I expect this, I expect this for always like old easy listening rock on scratchy old radios on every single stretch of highway in middle american movies late at night, flat tones and single star rising, early career and never gave a thought to past history. You always wanted to be James Dean moments aren’t the ones that I know how to connect with. These are, these disappearing I can close my eyes and taste you on my tongue without thinking. I know what you look like on the inside of my soul’s skin. You feel integral. You talk to me in poetry, with meaning. You hold me to you as if I am air and you are drowning. I feel calm in the face of the fear, in the face of you and your needs and this moment, this makes it right. Metaphor as teeth, metaphor as chromed pieces of bone from your fingertips to make myself a necklace. There is no way to repay this debt.

Once upon a time, there
were fairytales
princes and
strange iron shoes
what meant honour
Once upon a time, there
were childhoods
we believed
in gold and
thought being good
was winning

Tell me a story, they said
explain to us why we crave
why we crave pastel dresses and
happy endings

Tell me what matters
when everything is beautiful

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