grave letters ✓

09

i bit into cotton wool mistaking it for raspberry cotton candy and then hiked to the hilltop and ate a cloud. it was stained in prussian blue and stardust.

putting one foot in front of the other, i strolled down the broken pavements through dawn, dusk, twilight- naming the shapes of these clouds; to meet the starry velvet skies and a broken star.

along the way, i met you. boy in lavender. a firefly charged with electricity- like the trail a shooting star leaves behind- you burnt holes with the intention of passageways through the intergalactic space and offered me sweetened tea with honeydew upon being poised on the tethered limbs of the unnamed sister of saturn. venus's long-lost lover. maddened- bittersweet venus banished us from her garden where i planted lavender fields- dirt underneath my nails.

i'd thought you wouldn't feel so blue- but after roses are red and violets are blue; lilac is no different, and so i painted you. i painted you in apples and oranges, seeds planted and sprouting in your bloodied eyeballs.

i'd thought you wouldn't feel so queer. boys are molded in honey, painted with bees- boys are yellow. so i paint you lemon and call you citrus boy. hanging from low branches and smelling like fresh lavender lemonade with apple slices and orange.

you were lavender and i loved you, and you loved me came after that- but boys in lavender could never feel happy, so i sliced you up and buttered your gut with strawberries.

lavenders are blue, sorry i had to kill you.

The world is too cruel for boys in lavender with apples in their eyes.