“Start by pulling him out of the fire and
hoping that he will forget the smell.
He was supposed to be an angel but they took him
from that light and turned him into something hungry,
something that forgets what his hands are for when they
aren’t shaking.
He will lose so much, and you will watch it all happen
because you had him first, and you would let the world
break its own neck if it means keeping him.
Start by wiping the blood off of his chin and
pretending to understand.
Repeat to yourself
“I won’t leave you, I won’t leave you”
until you fall asleep and dream of the place
where nothing is red.
When is a monster not a monster?
Oh, when you love it.
Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep.
Here are your upturned hands.
Give them to him and watch how he prays
like he is learning his first words.
Start by pulling him out of another fire,
and putting him back together with the pieces
you find on the floor.
There is so much to forgive, but you do not
know how to forget.
When is a monster not a monster?
Oh, when you are the reason it has become so mangled.
Here is your humble offering,
obliterated and broken in the mouth
of this abandoned church.
He has come back to stop the world
from turning itself inside out, and you love him, you do,
so you won’t let him.
Tell him that you will never know any better.
Pretend to understand why that isn’t good enough.”

“we all have a room within us,
in which we keep the things
we have loved
deeply
intensely
passionately
but lost
forever
my room is full of you
only you.”

“

The sun inside of him
rages like wildfire
and he is
gold
gold
gold
and he is
scorching the skin of my heart,
yet still he pretends
that he is safe for me to love,
that his hands are gentle,
that his fingerprints won’t be
seared into the notches of my spine.

The sun inside of him
could set the kingdom ablaze;
he knows this, he does.

And he still asks me to love him,
to face the flame.

Find me in the ashes.

”

“

You love him, 
you do,
and here’s the miracle:
he loves you too.
You are allowed
to lick off the colour from his lips
to listen to the hymns in his pulse
to bask in the sunlight of his voice

You are allowed 
to have him.

You love each other,
you do,
and here’s the tragedy:
it’s not enough.
You are allowed
to watch the sun swallow him whole and burn him up
to stain your fingers to the bone holding him together
to count the constellations in his eyes as they blink out

You are not allowed
to save him.

”