When it’s a life of illusion
and I am the Magician.
way back when, I always wanted
a twin. an older brother—a shield,
a knight. later on, when i discovered that i must be,
i am, my own brother.
Here come the words!
remember when:
she used to love to say, ‘you are dumbern a sacka hammers’
then kill herself laughing.
when oh, all right, I’ll be
your villain.
You comfy?
Now what?
House of Flowers
Gates of Love
by Zeus, it’s a lightning bolt(!)
storming expansion in our hold
(allow me to tuck you in, sweet darling,
your little duckie blanket all snug)
Halls of Power, pirates,
singing queens, sunset sold;
Flying scoundrels falling
in love, myths retold;
House afire,
Magic bold.
When it’s never smart to burn white hot
(lest you flame away)
When this side is paradise.
And when it’s my birthday.
im baby the botanist, baby the rumor,
the garden nursery, baby the ruler;
when the wheelbarrows are positively poetry-in-motion. purple.
majesty. Yes to all and sister to chaos.
winds turn your head … Ready? they say … Honey … Fear,
The mysterious carriage appears.
… am I a cold-hearted snake or do you just have a crush on me?
Observe:
GO bestfriend!!!
You, my best friend.
When it’s times-up, yeah now
It’s my time (Time is YES).
Tits up!
When it’s flights-up
to the golden, to the mountaintops.
I am a tree
growing as I do.
When the threads become a lace-up and you’d love to discuss and it’s heretic season and the poles agree; when the regnant’s aesthetic is waifu and
––IT’S MY TURN!
––You wish! Imma bouta beat your high score!
––As if!
when i love you so much, when we’re all in it together, when we allow the sun to shine
Photo by Madison Inouye on Pexels.com
on our sex and feast and joy like a rolling wave of grâce à; when gifts on gifts on giftssss so you dance and dance again your sing. now, get your back off the wall!!! the flowers are twerking. And this is The Last Dance.
Quand Gemeaux, morning sunshine! The Lovers spiff up from the conjoin portal, in emerald gold and bloom from the wild pasture down the moonlight mile. A fever, if you let it.
When there’s stained glass for piety, and nemeses emerge; in the wild pasture, down a two-lane sidewinder—a matter of safety, or a rendezvous?
bardic bullion 