↳ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

xii

pretty boy -

i. flowers in your hair. stardust in your soul. you're wild like a dream is wild and bright like a dream is bright, raspberry-tender and mint leaf-sweet, gold dappled, always with your laughter hidden under your tongue, always with love rushing through your heart, always ready to run through the rain or paint sunsets or dance barefoot in the fire-petaled gaillardias. when we think 'awestruck,' we mean you. i mean you. i think you. i mean liberated.

ii. "transcendence of the self," says keats. so you become a fawn wandering in a pine forest fog. white spotted, damp-eyed, you become the rush of air under a blue jay's wing as it lifts off into the starry dark. bound for the moon, you become apollo holding the jewelry goblet, his lips made purple by wine and secret kisses, his bones full of poetry, and his heart full of song.