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Candy-cane smoke signals disintegrate
in the Spring Break air above our heads.
All around us, shrieks of glee and laughter
bounce off the hemlocks and eventually fade;
sizzle down like the embers of our rebel-teen bonfire,
becoming little more than memories we'll soon forget
when Graduation Day hits, when we're forced to go our separate ways and end this.
You lie beside me, friend, humming the last song you heard on the portable radio
that someone brought along and your bay-leaf eyes stare
up at the dizzying silver-pink sky above with a quiet peace; not exactly boredom,
just easy resignation like you're perfectly fine with
being stuck in this time-warp.

And I'm perfectly alright with watching you dream..
Boy, your calm rainbow-gloss energy
floats now towards me but when I first stumbled upon
this little spot at the edge of the lake,
this somewhat shy, vacant party-scene;
when I saw your sinewy track-star limbs
sprawled across the hazel-tipped grass, I just had
to disrupt the clear self-portrait you had
painted with my own wire-lust brushstrokes.

But you don't seem bothered at all, friend.
No, you even laugh when I push you down in the overgrown meadow,
ran my eager august-rush hands from your shoulders to your hipbones
and felt your larkspur-lungs pressing against your chest, tasted
summer-drops on your rib-cage.
Oh sapphire-mark, you didn't object, not even when
I bit your neck and threaded my fingers
in your burnt wheat-blond hair; called you mine,
permanently damned, irrevocably silver.
No, you didn't mind, just turned me over like
a shy maple leaf, did the same to me..
Now I was the angel and you, the devil.

But even afterward, that same vice-versa;
flip-side, spring dying-lust kept rushing
through our veins, forever midnight-gold.
“Frost-tips on pine trees left over from
winter's funeral, Valentine's Day blood;
that, stolen child, is the secret to immortality.”
Night-skinned lover, you were talking in your sleep;
mumbling weird, fantastical things.
Still, I thought it was ever so funny..

And I wasn't thwarted; freaked out
by your apparent ghost-twin, living in the same body;
reading minds, collecting souls.
“Who knows?” I thought in the morning.
“Maybe he won't remember a thing.”
And you didn't but I still told you.
“Boy, you said a wolf guards your brother's bones
in the cemetery where he lies beneath
crushed daisies and remnants of a broken home; shards
of attic-glass, torn fabric, baseball cards.”
You swear you can still hear his voice sometimes
when insomnia claws at your brain and
that's why you go out, try to lose yourself
in backyard barbecues, eccentric dives.

“But it never works,” you mumble, fully awake.
Sitting up under a dense cloud cover,
you run a hand through your messy strands and
gaze ahead at the mountaintops.
You notice that dawn has turned back into a free-spirit
again with true violet-blood, hippie grace.
In the distance, we hear engines roaring;
cars starting, tires tearing through the forest,
rolling over gravel and mud; anything hidden
beneath brambles, petty excuses for wildlife.
And we get up, even though we don't want to.
Slowly, achingly, we make our way home.

Oh but ever-lost dreamer, your name still
clings to the tip of my weathered tongue;
a cactus-flower relief, Victorian slander
caught in my throat, only a subtle shade
of morbid copper-blood.
Boy, your scent; all leather and moss,
sticks to my burning-though-it's-cold
flesh; neck and chest, regions where
your hands couldn't tire of exploring,
wouldn't leave alone.
Even as I drive back home to rejoin civilization
in the form of my mother and younger siblings;
all excited around a traditional breakfast-table
piled high with pancakes, German sausage..
Supernatural smile, even as I start this day over;
taking a shower, pulling on new clothes,
I can still feel the ghost of your touch; heated
yet patient, buried in my sandpaper bones.
Boy, it's pure fire-and-brimstone, Cloud 9 ice-heaven.
Yes, somehow, it's sill there; that moment of lakeside
freedom, a hard-candy fantasy
turned milk-white reality, never to be weakened with
time or metaphorical thunderstorms.

Could you say the same about me?
If I called you later, would you remember
every last minute of that Maple Valley farewell; all
the way down to the callouses on your fingers from
chopping firewood to the warm strawberry
mark I left on the side of your neck;
just below you ear, how you didn't give a damn?
If I picked up the phone later,
dialed your number after this house quieted down;
all my relatives either asleep or
watching television, completely unaware of my muted
deception, that is to speak to you
again after they forbade me; not twice in one week,
would you still meet me halfway?

Oh I hope so because time is running out,
as I'm sure you know, friend..
With a new semester just starting, off to college;
boy, what will I do to keep my mind from wandering
into unsettling territory?
You said you were tired of hiding; didn't want to
do it anymore when it came to lying.
Staring out at the rain trickling
down the library's brick-red roof,
I remember your eyes looked so sad; so lonely,
the gold without the shine, the green
without that sharp, infinite streak.
And I said, “You won't have to, I promise.”
Friend, I kissed you hard
but did you really believe me?
When you leave, how can I be sure that
no one else will come along;
offer to be your superhero, your shelter
from the hurricane that is this
post-adolescence, pre-adulthood phase?

Or am I morbid?
Am I cynical, negative, pessimistic?
I thought I wasn't..
I thought I'd started believing because
maybe I told you once,
“I'm sick of this mothball closet;
tired of the same old joke, and boy,
I just don't want to die anymore..”
But you assured me we were on the same page
when it came to freedom.
So I hope I don't give you any reason
to doubt my intentions.

I'm not running away; at least,
not without a plan, not without
your face in my mind-frame, dream-scape.
We started this death-grip, guilt-trip together,
boy; we'll finish it at the end of the year,
a clean-break out of this sandpaper town.
Pueblo-starlight, what do you say to that;
my last national anthem, independent wish?

So quiet, boy, so strange; you still
light a fire in my chest, glowing from
inside my rib-cage like Christmas lanterns
aligning the adobe clay walls of a southwestern
church, Las Cruces-style.
Boy, I carry the weight of your cracked
yet healing heart beneath a beaten-down
wrangler shirt, as if it were
my own trans-Atlantic burden.

Oh and I don't mind, I don't mind..
Just say I'm worth the trouble of
rain-splattered Sundays; your shoes
all wet on the porch, your fingers
brushing limp strands of hair from my eyes.
Oh yes, tell me I'm worth all the secrets
clawing at the back of your throat; the urge
to scream out the truth sitting just
on the tip of your proud Leo-tongue because,
god knows; you're worth every little piece
of this Tahoe-native hurt.
Dawn sticks to my tongue like dandelion fluff,
leaves a sour taste like dry whiskey;
acidic party-fire, campfire rumors,
the s'mores-corpse remains, behind.
Oh and the lavender you braided into my hair
yesterday before we headed downstairs, are
now merely stems, girl; wilting pictures
of faded-purple adolescence.

“Senorita Luna, you have to wake up,”
I say, crashing into your bedroom.
“Tu mama y tu papa; your parents will be here soon.”
Sitting up, jasmine, you wipe remnants of
gold eyeshadow and late-night rain from your lids.
“Damn it!” you grumble,
feeling the mattress for your phone.
Yet, I have it, girl,
in the pocket of my ripped denim shorts.
I wish I could say,
“What will you give me for it?
Lean in; kiss me, please.”
But it's not that easy and I hand it over.
Querida, I have everything
you're secretly hoping for but do you notice?
No, you're too concerned with
the lump of sleeping-boy lying next to you
on your favorite zodiac pillow.

“Wake up,” you tell your latest wet kiss in the dark.
He stirs and I take that as my cue to leave.
I pick my way through the debris of red plastic cups;
crinkled hair-scrunchies, denim jackets
littering the hallway,
a weekend that never should've happened.

And when your parents arrive,
girl, they don't suspect a thing.
“It's all thanks to you,” Lady Taurus, you say,
sipping orange juice at the breakfast-table.
You smile heartbreakingly.
“I don't know what I'd do without you.”
Oh I smile back but inside,
I'm tearing at the seams.
Don't you feel anything besides camaraderie
when you look at me, girl?
Don't you see more than easy friendship,
an electric closeness that
only comes after a storm?
Because we are more than two girls born
on the same month; only a few days apart, no?
I see a future, maybe; a house lit with
brand new paper-lanterns, Christmas lights New Mexico-style
and two glasses of hibiscus tea simmering on the front porch.
I see; maybe even a road trip ahead to steam-punk Seattle,
just us in a vintage Cadillac, all Rhiannon
notes and rebellion coming from a banged-up radio.

Oh I don't think I'm obsessed.
I don't think this is a dirty trick;
dancing in front of our zoned-out,
bored-as-fuck, high-as-a-kite friends.
No, you tell me, “This isn't a game, I promise.”
But if so, then what are you doing
with all those low-life wranglers at school?
“You can't look at her and not think about drowning”;
someone once told me before we officially met.
Oh and he was right, I would find out later;
that there's no oasis in this desert of need,
suppressed desire and mismatched hormones.
No, there's no life-vest because if I could
call for help; I would wreck havoc,
and who wants that?
I'm just a girl and life was never
meant to be fair.
I'm just a girl and starstruck all over again
as I uncover a photo from the more recent past,
your quinceara gown; bluebonnet-pale,
sheer-virgin, the first time we danced.
Oh I'm just a Las Cruces resident; wild
and untamed, a country-bumpkin in skinny jeans
and a plaid t-shirt.
But I'm done feeling sorry for myself..

And you should know, stormy April;
as understanding as I am, I'm not
just a stiff shoulder to cry on when
you have an argument with a boy from the other night.
A girlfriend; sexy free-spirit
twirling in a tribal skirt, is that
all they think you'll ever amount to?
Oh they're wrong, my fiery tiger-lily.
The only thing those boys want is the world
beneath their catholic school uniforms, but
all I want is the truth hidden under your skin.
Maybe I'm not as directionless
as the grown-ups seem to think;
all those old geezers, dames, old
birds nibbling on key-lime pie at
my grandparents' country club.
They all say, “Kids these days don't know squat
about the real world.
Too busy getting high, chasing after pipe-dreams;
disappointed, they'll die young,
see; even as they smoke countless cigarettes in
front of fuzzy television screens.”
Oh how sad; they think we all are crazy..
They think we're too lost in consumerism;
society's expectations,
to understand what love is.

Miss Starlight, I don't know about anyone else
but I'll speak for myself..
I do know what it's like
to care about another human being so much; that
it hurts, it burns inside.
Oh I don't have to be male to feel turned-on..
I don't have to be a saint
to be safe from the dark,
not completely clean but getting there;
accepting the angel, long forgotten,
hidden in the crevices of my night-born heart.
I don't need to be tall or perfectly slender
or sensuously-carved; with Aphrodite curves,
peeking out from beneath my mountain-roaming;
flower-child clothes, to feel that I'm finally worthy.

So many times; I've let myself down slowly,
hearing insults from people around me and
not saying anything in return.
Oh I wish, tiger-eyes, that I could've said,
“My worth is not measured
by your twisted approval”; and doing so,
I would've made you proud, girl.
My living, breathing summer;
I would have showed you that I'm not
something to be locked away
in a closet like a dusty old coat,
collecting mothballs; a fabric
ruined by the thread, but a real-live
heroine without the need for
paperback wings and a knight-in-shining-armor.

Querida, did I let you down?
This I just realized; my heart is like a blind
human, stumbling around, feeling for things
in a world of unfair fun-house carnival darkness.
But my heart doesn't know what to touch; grab and
hold onto, so it pulls at everything within reach;
even sharp, dangerous things.
For support, this messed-up
organ reaches out, stupidly.

But you say, girl, “Come find me in the blue..”
And I search through a sea of
Texas wildflowers deep in the thunder-bird heart
of this Lone Star state.
Yes, I see your hand poking out from among
clusters of indigo-milk petals.
Then when I pull you up from the hem of
your peasant-girl tee, I taunt,
“See? Never give up because you're not the only
one out there, screaming.
Sooner or later, someone's going to hear;
send out a lighthouse flame,
rainbow-skinned rescue-party.
Oh sometimes, Miss San Antonio victory;
Alamo war-paint, it's easy to
laugh when you say such silly things and
ask just how many cigarettes you've smoked,
margaritas you've sipped in the last hour.
Oh but not today, careless; wingless dove,
today I need something stronger than words,
dial-tone faith to get me through.

You know, girl, I still haven't told anyone..
I swear I'll die with so many secrets in my throat,
poking out of my casket like thistle-thorns;
all milk-weed, house-grown.
And usually, I don't mind the pain
but I'm tired of lying to save both our skins
from trauma, from shame.
As we pass the truck-stop near the interstate,
those memories come flooding back; barreling
through the gates of my brain,
what you did there once.
I promised I'd keep this secret, always..
Daisies-gone-wild; I thought
I could at the time, pretend
to look reckless just to be your friend.
But I hated myself and
I hated you, too; querida, I'll admit.
When those big white trucks would pull into town,
open those doors wide; they always seemed to me
like monsters, threatening to swallow you up.

One of them was a neighbor, we later discovered.
It was disgusting; it was terrifying,
we were only sixteen.
But now I'm tired of keeping my mouth shut about
all the important things.
You might get mad but I'm not saying all this
to complicate your world, your life.
No, I'm saying it to set us both free.

“You're right,” you mumble unexpectedly,
rubbing fiercely at a tear
clinging to the corner of your eye.
We're sitting on the edge
of a public pool, the shallow side.
It's four o'clock; most kids are at
school, we're killing time.
“I shouldn't have made you swear;
pinky-promise, and all that shit.
I was just protecting my own fears.”
Girl, you continue scowling at the water,
your head on my shoulder.
“Do you forgive me?” you ask in a tiny
voice, almost hopeless.
But I'm not in the mood to feel guilty.

I want us to forget all of it, honey;
toss those sickening memories
like strips of newspaper
out the window of a bright red
Cadillac, heading east.
I want to set us both free and
nobody can tell us what's right or wrong
when we're speeding away
from these stuck-up “morals”,
wind in our hair; fire in our eyes, songs
playing in the background.
Oh querida, call me crazy
but just smile like you mean it to end in
explosions of sand-dollar pride, I don't care..
Just give me the word and we're out of here.
Tell me we're one and the same,
a Bonnie-blue surrender 'cause this is what
I've been waiting to hear; that you want me,
as well; no apologies, no excuses.
I want to hear, Senorita Luna; that
you'll never let go of my hand like
a warm spring, blossoming.
Never say you're ashamed..
I encourage everyone to watch this super cute, super brave MV:
Girls like Girls- Hayley Kiyoko…
San Francisco, lace on train tracks;
a steam-punk dream come true,
this was the city I used to call home.
Running through bronze streets,
I used to play with other girls here;
the daughters of hoteliers and oil dug-up millionaires,
skipping rope, riding trolleys;
oh honey, how we were free..
“Oh stop crying over spilled milk,” you say but this is
about more than just a city stolen and
defiled by a bunch of love-sick cowboys.
No, this isn't about anyone else but me..

And whoever says that's a selfish thought
doesn't know our history.
No, they don't know how
you've betrayed me, time and time again.
Almost a century ago,
you tossed my lover over the balcony,
down a staircase and into a crowd of
sneering bourgeoisie nymphs.
Oh dear brother, do you know
I still have nightmares?
Pearl-jam blood on my hands, all over
my palms and the bodice of my dress;
oh yes, unfortunately
my brain wouldn't block out that memory,
wouldn't grant me mercy from this guilt.
And it was in that hour
of shock and devastating fear; crashing
through the roof like
a very-real bomb scare,
it was in that poison-wood bible-time
moment, that something in me changed.

Oh I don't need your pity..
I don't want your halfhearted comfort,
as deceptive as it is.
Maybe girls are only rescued in star-glass fairy tales.
“And I don't want to be the last of my species to reach
happiness all because
I have an overprotective sibling,
a family of cursed ones.”
Oh that's what I told him when I was up on the rooftop
listening to a kind boy's words
as he tried to win me over for the last time
before he left town, followed
his father's fishing boat to the coast.
But little did he know; that sailor's son,
that I was already falling.
I was already caught in his net of last-minute crushes.
And that was just fine..

It had to survive; my iron-will to be loved,
against all odds because I was tired of being
the only girl in my village without a mother.
I was tired of sewing my own corsages onto
red-vine sleeves and
hiding from a father who only talked to me
when he was sober.
And in a way, I know you felt responsible;
being the eldest child, but you never really
had it in you to teach me anything wise.
“You're so ungrateful, dear sister,”
you smirk, reliving that moment
in our courtyard outside; with two swords in hand,
a tear-stained, bloody corset.
“I taught you how to fight, how to never
let a man take you forcefully.
Girl, what more do you want?”
Something that's not as cruel; cold, poison-ivy red
and horribly distorted in your clouded wolf-eyes.
Brother, you took my happiness.
Now I want it back; all in one piece, undamaged
because I think I deserve it after so much loss.

Boy, I'm going to show you
how unreasonable I can be.
Dear brother, I'm going to show you what's happened
to my thorn-field heart,
now that it's been pricked so many times
by a selfish needle; a holocaust bow and arrow,
dipped in the sweet honey-suckle blood of 1812.

Oh yes, I remember perfectly;
the hem of my dress caught in his hand,
the angel-chords playing from harp strings
and piano keys below the staircase.
Yes, I remember that night
the moon dipped down to smile at me;
how I felt infinite but in a totally
reckless human way, just free.
“Pretty?” he said.
“That's not enough to describe you.”
The Creole boy and I were standing
next to a vase of
azaleas and even some swamp-moss that
the servants had somehow used
to decorate in a totally original,
historic fashion.
And I was thinking when he wrapped a hand
around my waist, pulling me closer,
“God, I sure hope this isn't a game!”

But, brother, you taught me how to fear love.
You taught me how to distance myself
from everyone else and that affection;
attention “is nothing worth dying for”.
That's what you said when
you murdered my last beau.
You said he would only use me as
a playmate in bed,
that the pretty ones were always
the most cruel.
And I guess there is some truth
to that because
now I'm going to show you how out-of-control,
vicious I can be.

Oh what right did you have to
take my glass-castle innocence;
snow globe-turned happiness away?
Dear brother, you say,
“I was only looking out for my little
sister, and this is how you repay me?”
Oh but I know very well
that isn't true; you weren't looking out
for me, so much as you were looking out
for your Vlad the Impaler
namesake; your alter-ego..
Oh yes, call me cruel, if you wish;
I only learned from the best
hell-raising demons, and if
I'm heartless; cold at the moment,
it's only thanks to you and
all your inherited “Kiss me,
I'm pretty; kill me, I'm timeless”,
springtime narcissism.

“Yes, blame me,” you patronize me,
toss all my dreams out the window;
memories through lattice screens,
and scoff in the background.
“Blame whoever you want, ice-glazed girl,
but the truth is this; any fool who falls
in love with you, ends up dead; tossed on
the front porch like a bag of
railroad-runaway, vintage bones.”
Oh you're going to wish you had never said that..

Oh I'm not giving you any ultimatums.
I'm done making back-alley deals with
steal-eyed angels; swamp monsters,
April Fool's jack-in-the-box,
masquerade devils in disguise.
Oh I'm done being your little “poor thing”.

“Give it up, if you want;
this quest for true love..”
I know people mean well,
trying to cheer me up with
roses and sympathy cards;
ribbons of sorrow confections,
but they're going about this the wrong way.
But I'll take your condolence letters; your
half-armed embraces, good-neighborly hugs,
if it means that after all these
crumbling sand-castle grins,
you can give me what I wish for most; that
is my last pale winter-solstice lover,
alive and well; in one piece, in my arms again.
“Oh I can't do that,” the priest
at the county church says shortly. “You know that..”
Well, then I'm not wasting energy on this lie, father.

Brother says, “Stop misbehaving, little girl!”
But I'm tired of feeling powerless in the face
of his irrational cat-and-mouse wrath.
I'm sick of giving up simple pleasures;
acts of faith, evidence of happiness, all
for narcissistic, overly-confident men.
They live in the Stone Age; they live
in a century so red, stained with the blood
of war-on-women, that they cannot
see this bright amber beacon; light
of a new, strong millennium.
I'm done waiting for these fools to clue in.
I'm tired of picking apples in
a bloodstained orchard, hauling them back in
wicker baskets, finding a house
completely empty of laughter, of song.
Oh I'm not doing that again;
crying alone in my bedroom,
disgusted with myself for needing,
craving comfort from a relative
who never saw my true potential,
always took me for granted.
No, first my mother; and now you, dear brother,
leaving me here, all alone.

“That's not fair,” you exclaim, floating back home.
Well, it's too late for that. “That's not true..”
But you were never into all this 'caring' business, anyway.
And I'm done waiting for you to grow a heart in
your dry-as-a-desert raw rib-cage.
There are no cactus flowers blossoming all white and pure,
from your oak-skinned arms;
spider-hands, branch veins, your crinkled-leaf fingertips.

I'm at the end of my rope, traitor-sibling.
Dragging my heart around over pot-holes and
America's Worst cross-country murder-roads,
you just don't care about me or anyone
other than your evil, caged-bird twin.
Well, since you're letting him out;
I'll take that as my cue to let all my own demons out, too.
Oh just you wait, rebel-storm.
I'm going to show you the depth
of these black well-water tears
drying on my cheeks, the source of
all these red-eye revenge fantasies.
Dear brother, I'm going to show you crazy.
poor thing
not sure about the title He Noes No Love might go back and change it..
Night-hawk, you've always warned me about monsters,
ever since you found me;  half-frozen near the Kamo River.
You've told me to watch my back, always be suspicious of
the silent-listeners; the ones so beautiful,
they split your heart in two;
so deadly, that one touch and
you've already fallen asleep
before your mind has time to catch up
with your dulling, chalk-white senses.
But I think a part of me never really took you seriously..
A part of me was even angry, seeing
how you considered me to be too delicate, so transitory.
Yet now, I wish I had listened..

“Give it up, give it up; this curiosity..
Girl, don't you feel alive
whenever you run free in the fields
outside your great-aunt's cottage?"
Honey-eyed boy, you were always encouraging me to stay
away from the fairy-tale ones who
could lead me down a dark alley; seem so charismatic,
kid-friendly one minute, scary and twisted the next.
Boy, you said, “Never trust the ones
who look the most innocent, in comparison to dragons in storybooks.
Girl, this is real; do you know what they do
to eclipse-virgins like you?”
But I shook my head, pushed you away
when you sat down beside me one night,
tried to tell me; straight-up honesty,
distorting the gentle notes in your voice.

Oh this is for real; I know, boy..
But still, is it possible to want you in a way
that doesn't turn me into a villain?
“Don't say that!” you exclaim coldly.
“You're pure, darling, like the moon.”
Oh but, raven-heart, aren't you the naïve one here?
Yes, you should know; my damaged-hope,
that if every rose has its thorns,
then I must have some, too.
And aren't you forgetting, my cloak-meets-dagger;
angel-killer, that even this moon;
stark-white and lovely, drifting over the port city
of Kobe, has her dark side, too?

Yes, it's cozy in this old-fashioned hanok;
heating up a kettle of jasmine tea, thinking
if only winter weren't so near
to our autumn-sun story-line,
making the blind-eye; berry-pink ink spill all over,
distorting our characters into squiggly mistakes..
Oh a pretty skull; that's what the moon looks like,
hovering over the slanted rooftop.
But still, I'm unafraid..
No, I'm not afraid when you wind your hands around
my waist; when I'm standing on a curved bridge,
peering down into a black nymph-pool.
Somehow, the bottom doesn't look so foreboding.

Yet, “You should go home,” you say, not loudly
or maturely enough to cause any impact.
“Yes, we should,” I murmur,
a smirk on my shattered-heaven lips.
For the first time, I feel powerful..
I add, stepping closer: “It's getting dark.”
Turning around, I've broken the calm facade
that you've created to keep me at a distance.
Oh boy, you've kept us from wandering
into forbidden, Cheshire-cat territory;
but maybe if this hope dies, then
I'll never know what it's like to jump
head-first, take a risk and perhaps
that's why the nights are longer now.
Oh if a thunderstorm hits the city in an hour or so,
splitting the cherry trees in half,
scaring the doves into cowering on the rooftop;
if a hurricane is spotted on the horizon
like the forecasts had predicted earlier,
then let's not separate at the gate this time.

Let's sneak into one of the guestrooms.
Boy, it can be our little secret;
how much we want to devour each others' fears.
Every little insecurity peels away;
as insignificant as orange-rinds turning bitter
on a breakfast-table, because maybe it's better
that I take advantage of this moment
by proving that I'm not as naïve,
as fragile as I appear.

Oh will you remember how
my lips skimmed up and down your throat
as we stumbled through the open door?
Will you remember how
my usually-timid hands just couldn't keep still;
just had to slide off your button-down shirt,
trace the contours of your chest and shoulders?
Will you remember how a few hours before,
I was not a creature you had to protect
but a survivor like you?
Boy, it breaks my heart
to think that you might not realize this.

Don't make me cower in a corner, please..
I'm sick of being a damsel-in-distress;
always running to the nearest warrior
I can find with a sword, with a gun,
with a bow and Sagittarian arrow.
Boy, your rum-colored eyes
promised me adventure so please
don't remind me of the sheltered
daughter I used to be; pushed to
the far but sunlit shadows,
protected by my adoptive father.
And no, I'm not being ungrateful, in the least.
Night-hawk, I do recognize that
all his actions were well-meaning
but perhaps; just like everyone else,
that poor rich man underestimated me.
Maybe as small and inexperienced as I am,
I can still survive in the deep end and swim
with all those brazen, silver-dagger sharks.

But “No, you've got it all wrong,” you say,
abruptly trapping me against a wall.
“It's not that I don't see your wit, your
unexpected pride and shooting-star bravery.
It's just that I know how well we connect
when nobody's watching.
Like ghosts; we drift across a patio, a lawn;
like magnets, we clash.
A back-alley, black-market drug; this feeling
is addictive, honeysuckle poison.
Now do you understand what I'm saying, trouble-dove?
You're playing with fire.”
But perhaps these words would have scared me away
in another life; another dimension,
context where I'm a frilly-dressed subject,
lady-in-waiting, not the cliff-hanger
phantom hiding behind the curtain.
Oh no, boy; your warnings have no weight with me
because I've been craving this
august-rush for the longest time.

“Just three weeks,” you reason.
Oh but who knows, boy?
Maybe I'm not the same, after all..
I have no more apologies
left to mumble during your visits.
I'm tired of blushing every time
you say something along the lines
of: “Your eyes are too expressive
to keep hidden”, pushing my hair back,
and; “Freckles aren't birth-defects, girl.
They're memories of a time when
you smiled in the sunlight.”
Oh don't you see it's not fair
when you pull away, either?

“Don't tempt me, winter-flower,”
you whisper, face half hidden in shadow.
“You think you can hold onto your epic
moon-tower virginity, keep it
from collapsing and dissolving into
a puddle of Taro milk Wednesdays and
apple-seedlings; ribbons of chaste mint-green..
But think again, honey, because
you don't know how thirsty I've been since
last September crept in through my window,
ran her dry fingers down my sand-paper throat.”
Oh blood-orange gaze, I swear
it's like that for me, too..
Frustrating and lonely; I don't want to be
someone's paper-crush, pushed to the back
of a teenage melodrama.
Boy, I want to stay in your arms; glowing
like a fearless Christmas flame, glowing
like a pretty sugar-nightmare.
I swear this much is true; city-curse,
make me irreplaceable..

And when it starts to rain;
even though we're dry in this traditional narrow room,
drops of November-want
seem to be rushing fast, nonstop through my veins.
Boy, you can't fake indifference any more than
you can keep the dragon-red sun from tearing
through the clouds every morning.
A part of you I've never seen; hungry yet
still  patient, wanting to savor
every minute, comes out of hiding.
Not holding back this time around;
my fingers lace around your neck,
feeling your hot sun-turned skin,
glowing copper like my bad luck.
But still, it's so exhilarating;
the wasted beauty of your treasured pulse,
beads of sea-salt, white beach-wood sweat.
Making me dizzy, these little details are
no longer insignificant; the intoxicating
scent of cinnamon-bark, the dangerous taste
in my mouth; sweet coconut, bitter herb.
Foxglove-traitor; you whisper,
breaths coming out short,
“I've had enough of your teasing, always
granting others your smile, your ice-and-dove
soft embrace; and never me, even though
you claim to have wanted this since
the beginning of our mismatched story.”

“I do,” I insist, recalling
all the times when I watched other girls
leave you candy and torn bits of haiku
taped to your desk at school.
Oh how many times have I wondered
when I'd get the chance to tell you
that I've stood in the rain
outside our gate, that I've waited
longer than any of them?
It's not fair that you accuse me
of not caring now..
“That's not what I mean!” you
exclaim, sounding alarmed by
the unlikely possibility that
I could ever hate you.
“But you've been acting different.”

Yes, till today, I've kept my distance;
watching you from afar, craving your fireside gaze
on my face only; the light tingling
sensation on my skin as your fingers
skim up and down my spine and most of all,
the taste of your clove-and-honey lips on
my tongue; a forever-autumn promise,
a faithful supernatural high.
Oh I never thought I could hold you;
so still, so close, Milky Way sleeves and
chocolate-citrus warmth; invisible
yet tangible when you pick me up and
lay me down on a futon on the floor.
And my Cancer-moon pulse
hums beneath your lips.
Tongue flicking, teeth scraping; barely
there but still intoxicating,
you paint a slow violet-ache down my neck,
boy; across my chest and over
my small, subtle pink breasts.
Oh hips rising; I want more, see, but still
you can't push the need hard enough to burn
inside of me, turn to ashes of
fables and true-blue legends
deep in my tired lily-bones.
Boy, now who's the tease?

“Still you,” you murmur, rolling off of me.
I chuckle: “So stubborn”,
gaze up at the ceiling.
A survivor of wolfs-bane,
you've always warned me about rust-and-jam
monsters; shadow-walkers,
children of an hourglass night.
But what if I'm one of them?

Could you still want me like this; ruthless
and unpredictable, mysterious
in the deadliest way?
With sin-coated lips and a milk-white bee
sting, venom leaking from my every pore;
a Saturn-casualty,
boy, could you still love me?
yaseino mono
Japanese translation: the wild ones

"We're laughing till we cry
to ourselves we lie
dance in the moonlight
I'm satisfied
Wake up to the sun
burning while we're young
set fire to our lungs
till what's left is none

War inside my mind
drowning in the tides
fighting for my life
I'm satisfied
Intoxicate my veins
make me misbehave
be my great escape
till we fade away

We're the wild ones
curious fools
trapped in the flume."

Read more: Bahari - Wild Ones Lyrics | MetroLyrics 
If I told you, darling, that everything would
end in party-glitter, would you believe it?
What if I told you that if this would be
your last Christmas in the city of Kobe,
then I was going to make it the best; not
tear-stained or blood-spotted, a sacrifice
in snow, put there to remind you
of broken childhood swing-sets?
Oh wheat-thin girl, would you think me
capable of such hand-me-down miracles?
I hope so because; my chalk-white blossom,
you know I'd do anything for you..

And that's the problem here, isn't it?
I'd do anything but still, you push me away.
You tell me you can handle this crime scene
all by yourself; a rusty pair of scissors,
your mother's picture rotting
in the background, a gas-lit stove.
Girl, you say, “Just go!” when the cops
show up; never on time, always useless.
“If they think it's you; if you get hurt,
I'll never forgive myself.”
Oh girl, I'm scared shit-less.
I'm ice-cold, pale all over but I can't
just abandon a bluebird in this
red-wine fire, the wreckage of falling stars.

And it's only when you see strict
determination in my eyes, the truth that;
no, I'm not leaving you behind, that you sigh
softly and press your forehead against mine.
“It's alright,” you tell me. “I promise.
I'll take care of everything.
Just don't get caught; run and please
don't stop till you reach our harbor.
I promise I'll meet you there and by then,
nobody will know anything about us.”
Sweetheart, you were just a child, saying these things..
How could I trust that nothing would go wrong?

And yet, you gave me no choice; had the murder weapon
already in your small hands when the crew arrived and
even as I dashed down dirty alleyways,
ran like you told me to, I cooked up
a green-witch plan in my head: I would
get you out, if they ever locked you up.

Oh but what would you say if I confessed
now over a steaming mug of mud-black coffee;
(to rival your sweet-smelling white tea),
that even as I face my eighteenth birthday
on the horizon; girl, you still render me speechless?
Oh would you call me a fool; a coward for
not swallowing this guilt, for not keeping
all these sharp and jagged feelings in?
Oh after all, with a magnetic pull towards fantasy
and away from reality; darling, with your
smoke-and-mirrors smile, you are the queen of diversion.

It's been seven years and I'm still
avoiding your neighborhood, the stretch of
crushed-flower pavement that used
to lead to your newspaper-roof home.
Still, the memory of your solitary train-escape
still plays in my brain every time
I cross the railroad tracks, separating our worlds.
Can you tell me why, live-forever nightmare?

And you respond icily, “Because you're a fool.”
I bite my tongue and wait for you to push me off
again, walk away from my tattered heart-sleeve life.
But unexpectedly, your eyes; so doe-brown and
fearless before, well up with tears now.
You wrap your small doll-like hand
around the nape of my neck,
pull me down to your level.
Girl, you kiss me hard and
I'm startled for a second;
but then my hands instinctively
fold around your waist, your lilac-lady frame.
I pull you in; tighter, closer, I deepen this
feeling because girl, I still can't believe
you're really here; within my slippery reach,
so bittersweet yet real.

“No!” You step back before I can make us both
disappear into some horribly sick yet tempting
1926 memory, who we were in our past lives;
a fugitive sneaking into speakeasies and
buying back his childhood slowly, and you;
a singer with a pixie haircut, flapper sequins
and bright purple feathers, but a cold stone
permanently lodged in her throat.
You break our rain-and-fire embrace,
stumble back a few feet; keep that distance
as shivers run up and down your arms and
you fold them tightly over your chest.
Girl, you shake your head.
“We can't rock the boat.
No, boy, you've made careful steps
towards rebuilding a future out of
rubble and so have I..
Everything will fall apart if we go
down that road again,
if we make the same steel-jasmine mistakes.”
And after a pause, you tell me with
a little less ire in your tone:
“Our dreams are as unreliable
as the Titanic's reputation before it sank.
Darling, don't you get it by now;
we'll never feel invincible again..”

Oh but I don't give a damn about that.
Girl, the only reason why I've kept my mouth shut
all these years was to preserve your true good-name.
Mine has been tarnished since I came out
of my sick mother's womb, a specter-baby;
black demon-eyed, clenching his tiny fists tightly,
as though he were already
fighting with the whole damn world.
Furious and frozen with cyanide tears on his cheeks,
I was meant to shake up everyone's hopes,
girl; their earth-shattering dreams.

And even though you try now to retreat,
make an iconic exit; you're no actress, girl.
Fox-friend, you're just
what I've always needed;
tiger-lily warmth injected straight up,
sun-glass medicine rushing through my veins.
Killing all forms of hell,
your touch, hidden within..
“Hell, yes,” I whisper, close.
“I want you to know you'll never
be too scarred for me to love.”

And you fall against me then.
Your face buried in my chest,
your eyes are dry and still
your body shakes with a history of
sobs kept inside that tiny bird-cage frame.
Oh girl, I want to take you home.
“But we've got none,” you murmur almost
unintelligibly into my rain-meets-cotton skin.
Oh so nevermind that;
I'll take you somewhere else.
I'll take you to that
old abandoned hotel by the beach where
I'll build you a shelter on the roof.
You can melt into the mist there,
slowly rising from the ocean below.

“Oh boy,” you laugh halfheartedly.
“You're still a fantasy-freak, I see.”
Oh girl, but if it's easier,
we can pretend we're strangers.
For just one night, we can walk
across the collapsing rainbow-bridge;
smiling shyly, acting as though
we had just met in a club downtown.

Shattered trust like fire-blown church-glass
all over the front porch; we can get it all back;
everything intact just like how it was in
the bubblegum-pink, CD-obsessed early 90s.
Yeah, you can drag me to your new house tomorrow for dinner.
Girl, you can introduce me your adoptive mother
as just a nice boy from your sociology class,
wearing a navy school uniform; properly tucked-in white shirt
and blazer, every hair and thread in place.
She will never know our history, see that
we have already met before almost a lifetime ago
in a faraway; messed-up version of Monopoly.
Oh she doesn't have to know that we've been
playing for keeps; dealing red-queen vintage
cards, collecting souls since even before we knew how to read.
“Oh it's much too risky,” you tell me, laying
a hand on my chest, feeling how my heart pounds inconsolably
beneath the spot where your touch has always burned me.
“Jackrabbit,” you say quietly, nicknaming me
after such a naughty, taunting animal.
“I can't promise that she'll be pleased.”
No, but all I have to do is convince her
to let me take you out in the open, treat you to tea
and flowers; to all those pretty yet worthless things
that normal couples appreciate in
our twisted candy-sick society.

Oh it doesn't matter, at all..
But still, you smile and tell me,
“Let's just climb over this one hill;
this one jasmine-mound hurdle.
Then, we can put it all behind us.”
Oh and if we bury the sugar-skull;
tear-stained past, would it stay dead?
Or would it rise up like a zombie; hungry
for innocence, take us by surprise again?
Oh darling, even if that happens;
I swear I'll never feed my Candy-land
soul to a skeleton rib-cage ever again.
I'll never retreat without a decent fight;
a hard-earned battle against only
the most frightful of monsters,
never hide and leave you all alone
in a collapsing factory like I did before.
Oh girl, tell me, do you forgive me?
That's all I want to know now..

And when you wipe a tear from your cheek,
I realize I've finally broken down your walls.
I realize that beneath all the mud, magic-sand
and New Year's Eve glitter, we're still
just two kids; tiny stowaways on a ship rocking
in a quarter-gray sea.
But still, we sail away from the island
we used to call home.
Still, we move along.
Oh do you think we can make it through?

“Of course,” you say,
even when I show up; a mess at your door.
Hands and arms blood-spotted;
I'm evidence of a knife-attack in an alley,
an innocent person drowning
with belladonna poison in their lungs
and the truth dancing in the tarnished
city breeze like violet crimes of love.
Still, you never run;
still, you stare at me hard.
You're fearless, girl..
No one would think it, but you are;
beneath your yucca flower skin,
layers of traditional kimono silk
your subtle-as-April makeup.

“It's not your fault,” you insist,
pushing me into a shower stall.
Girl, you turn the cool-as-river water
on, pick up some almond-milk soap.
You say you'll have me cleaned up in no time.
But can you; really, my jasmine-mistake?
My stubborn fox-friend, can you tell me
what exactly we did wrong; to send all
the angels above, plummeting down chimneys
and harassing us as we slept
under Medusa-spun sheets?
Can you wipe away every dirty freckle
on my still-invisible form;
every rust-colored mark?
Can you make me feel human,
show me what I've become?

Oh I sure hope so because
I've always seen you as a chalk-white
live-forever; a flower that
resists flooding, blossoms
under pressure from the sun, from all
elements and trickster fairy-thumbs.
Yes, I've always seen you as
the stronger, more knowledgeable one.
But now that the tables have turned;
that I've seen you break down,
held you in my arms as your body
shook with regret and 10-year old
anger; suppressed 1999 carnival
feelings, can you trust me?

If demons escape a Shinto shrine
tonight; crawl across your yard,
if they manage to kidnap you,
drag you down; rest assured,
I'll be close behind.
Girl, I'll follow you into
the coldest of banshee-nights because
I know you'd do it for me anytime.

What if I told you I could bring back the innocence
that was stolen from right under your window?
Oh if I can give it back, safely
tucked in a heart-shaped box; pretty yet
indestructible, would you still say, girl,
that this love is damaged goods?


United States
Current Residence: Texas
Favourite genre of music: rock


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sleepy-punkboy Featured By Owner 14 hours ago  New Deviant Student General Artist
h-o-l-y shit! your poetry is fucking great. also, thanks for the fav.
autumn-spirit Featured By Owner 11 hours ago
haha thank you :D I'm honored.
sleepy-punkboy Featured By Owner 8 hours ago  New Deviant Student General Artist
don't be, man, anytime c:
blispiral Featured By Owner 14 hours ago  New Deviant Hobbyist Writer
Thank you so much for the favorite! 
autumn-spirit Featured By Owner 11 hours ago
you're welcome
anylife Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Student Photographer
Thank you for the fav ! :D
autumn-spirit Featured By Owner 4 days ago
you're welcome
SurrealNacre Featured By Owner Nov 19, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for watching!!
nawkaman Featured By Owner Nov 18, 2015
as ever, thank you for the faves :heart:
Patri-ck Featured By Owner Nov 16, 2015
Ерank you so much for Fav!!! I really appreciate it!!!Hatsune Miku-06 (Smile) 
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