footprints, glass, fury
Send me three words and I'll write you a poem (x)
Look at you, the prodigal son–
you with the star-studded eyes,
you with the mountain range spine,
you with the sun on your lips
and moonlight in your skin,
and terra firma at your feet.
You are the world, the universe, the cosmos,
son of the galaxy, heir of the planets,
God’s chosen child.
Your touch burns like sunlight on Icarus’s wings.
I am burning at the stake.
I am melting like snow in April.
I am vanishing like raindrop puddles in the desert.
I am dying under your touch,
your toxic fingers,
your corrosive skin,
oh, but I am addicted to the aftertaste of your skin on mine.
I am addicted to the whisper of your caress,
and if this is the way I die–
I choose this. I choose you.
I must die anyway.
Darling, I am not like you.
You leave footprints in the bedrock,
brand the Earth with your trail, your path–
mountains collapse under your feet.
I leave memories like fingerprints on glass
to be wiped away with a breath and one fatal swipe.
I am ephemeral,
a passing thought,
a flickering candleflame,
and even your fury cannot bind me to this earth.
Even your breath cannot give me life–
that, my love, already belongs to Death, I’m afraid.
Even your kisses cannot start my heart–
that, my love, stopped bleeding long ago, I’m afraid.
Please don’t look so sad.
Gods were never meant to fall in love with fallen men,
with boys who play with fire and singed skin.
You’ll forget me someday, I know–
it’s nothing tragic, it’s just the way love stories go–
but until that day, my love,
remember me in the whisper of a breeze,
in the afterimage of an eclipse,
in the shadows of a falling star.
Remember me when I am gone–
my smudged-glass kisses, my death-kissed touch,
my sun-cursed hellfire plummet in your arms–
Remember me when I am gone.
That’s all I ask, my God-favoured love.