I sink into strawberry sadness,
discovering you is damning but delicious.
I am dreaming again,
of far away hiding places,
where I can heal.
I dreamed once,
that love was an exorcism,
a line that you drew,
drawing all the solitude and sorrow from your skin,
letting it wash away your disappointments and your sins.
I dreamed once
that I fell into the fantasies of a demon,
who adored me.
I explored heaven on Earth,
tasting his truest devotion,
in the flora he found,
draping them across my painted lips,
whenever we kissed
to show me how desperately he wanted me to stay.
Hell had not prepared him,
for the pain of parting,
but another night called out to me,
that would confuse and thrill me in equal measure,
was about to come true,
and there was more magic to meander in,
as I found myself,
in the happiest of places,
hazed, dazed and gazing at you.
My hand was yours,
the moment that we met,
exploring fraternities of fairies,
that somehow seem more real,
than the concept of a true love,
in a trying time,
where nothing makes sense,
and nothing ever lasts,
and I ask you,
and all night,
What is that word?
It had perhaps been an hour,
perhaps a lifetime,
but you were persistently patient,
ready to wait,
finding my nervous hands,
playing an ancient, urgent song against your spine,
as your lips,
in my neck,
and I start to forget,
that I am afraid of diving deep beneath the lair,
of a monster,
who only wanted to be free,
and perhaps I am tired of being free,
kneeling at the water,
shouting down to whoever hears,
that there can be fun in being found.
I hope the night,
and all that are near understand,
broken babbles in a lost language,
there’s no English equivalent
for a sound like that.