the molted sun drips its sweet, tangerine, melted caramel indulgence on my sleepy eyelids in the midst of the strawberry fields,
i remind myself that i am in love.
my sweet boy resides in the winter, his cherry cough syrup lips read me the words from his very own rendition of the bible,
and i am in love.
bubblegum wrappers are strewn across the veranda and we've missed the snow so much that we've made wrapper-angels out of them,
and it's all a game to my sweet winter boy, he lost his mind in the summer of '03, his wispy eyelashes bat in my direction and his tired eyes yearn for my bony arms to capture him again,
i often find myself in his sugary embrace late in the night as i bandage my paper-cuts that the blood-ended paper airplanes that hung from the ceiling had impaired,
and i am very much in love.
i am grossly enraptured by the way his dress shoes dance around the fourth
living room on the second floor,
and although i am always sick, my sweet, baby's breath boy will always tend to my ever-growing wounds and my sore throat,
as long as i lay with him in the summertime,
so that his icy fingers won't melt from his hands,
times like these bring me back to autumn, when the walls are draped in tapestries and sore feet dance around the banquet hall
and i find myself bleeding from my rib cage as my heart is too heavy for my small torso,
i find myself in the garden, in my sweet boy's arms,
his hollow heart rendering full again, and the bittersweetness of goodbyes emptying it again,
yet i am still, and always will be,
in love.
