midas touch

you skin clings to mine like a lost-and-found child
clings to his mother after five years disappearance,
and when our bodies push push push together in this ritual pleasure
i have the sensation of being siamese,
shaking with anticipation to untangle your august air limbs
to know if my legs my eyes my h/e/a/r/t
are still whole and my own
not halfed with a blue-eyed boy
barely holding the sky above his sanity with borrowed romantic ideals
faery tale endings i myself am too young to dissolve
too young to sink when the blood of your heart
coagulates on our thighs
smearing slightly on your witch's apple lips
composing passion declaration kisses
swallowing my becoming

d ust


in your ( ) hands

and (mygod, midas)

i never bargained to be this lov(own)ed

-finis. For now. I'm trying to reclaim my Muse after a too-long writer's block. I may come back and re-edit; I'm not entirely sure I'm back in full form yet.