MON CHÉRI

ib mafloys

12 : 29 : 42 AM

your baby's such a lover, tasting of sugary soy milk and honeysuckle goodness and gathering hearts as easily as piling dandelion weeds in his arms. contrast, yes: you boast a smile full as peach meat and a crucible for a heart to melt the metal jittering his bones, to soften a love unyielding -- soon his palms are soft as untied shoelace boyhood against your shorn-short hipbones, soon even the crudest of fingers look seraphic swarming about the sloping hills and valleys of his shoulders, and devilish birds masquerade spare scythes as beaks if only to sip nectar from his bloodstream once more. catch their wings (malign-edged and sharp as teeth) in your palm & swallow them whole so something other than limerence stings your gut, so the dynamic of saviour & saved is reversed, and you hold him like he's got night flesh: like he wanes incandescent in bluedark, got a laugh like the stars scraping against the sky, got moon-eyes pale with reflected commiseration, rather than skin old as an antiquated paperback, hands sweet as poetry, and a love like mon chéri.

- fin

☽

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