exitus acta probat

onceuponatime.

You're afraid to fall asleep.

You are, you are, even if you try to tell Mum otherwise; you're afraid of the monsters and half-spider half-lion creatures twining around your legs and sinking fangs into your skin. You're afraid of the dark and you're afraid of the shadows and you're afraid of the way the sky goes green and blue and orange and purple in the shift between night and day -- terrified that the sun won't be able to chase the dark sky away, one day.

But, though you try and try and try, you fail each time.

And you sleep.

i.

You're awake -- or the dream equivalent of being awake -- the dregs of your consciousness and the fabric of your dreams ghosting around the edges of your body, like satin and silk and cobwebs. There is a boy -- there is always a boy, even in places that are yours and yours alone -- and he has the greenest eyes you ever did see; shining emeralds in a sea of disheartened greys.

"I am Adam."

"I am Eve."

He stares at the length of your neck, the swell of your bottom lip, the curve of your breast and sneers. Flushing with shame and disgust, you want to wrap the dream tighter around yourself -- keep this other out; chase him away with the sun. But he won't go, you know he won't, though how you know will always be a mystery to you.

Still, you can't help but stare at him from under your stupid girl-lashes, grey, cut-glass eyes reflecting his green perfectly.

...

You're awake.

ii.

"You are a very pretty girl," he says, demands, even as you shake your head. "You are." he insists.

Teeth sink into those girl-lips of yours, "well, you are a very pretty boy."

"Yes," he laughs, like gravel and dirt and whiskey, "yes, I am."

You shiver. He gives you his jacket.

You give him pink ribbons for his gold-spun hair.

iii.

"Your skin is soft and warm," he frowns, "mine is different."

He offers his arm to you, pulls your hand to run along the heated flesh from arm to shoulder to chest to hips, and over again. You frown, too, pulling your hand back.

"You're a boy," you argue, "you're not supposed to be like me."

"That's stupid. I want to be pretty, too."

Huffing, you pull off your white dress, press the bundle into his arms. "There. Now you'll look like the prettiest princess of them all."

He gives you his faded jeans, torn by the knees from overuse.

iv.

"Your hair is nice," you mourn, running impatient, jealous hands through the golden strands, "it's so very nice. A girl would want hair like yours."

He stares up at you from your lap, one hand fisted in the green grass, the blue sky catching his emerald eyes, sunlight beating down on you both. "Why would you want that? Your hair is lovely and long. I want hair like that."

You pull out silver scissors, and fear flashes through his eyes; like he's made a confession and you are to execute him for his crimes. But you simply bring the silver to your own hair, and snickt, snickt. Bring up the strands, press them close to his, and whisper by his ear, "you can, you can."

v.

"I want it," you demand, hands on his chest. He looks up at you in surprise, mouth falling open. "Kiss me. I only want a taste."

So he does, pressing his mouth against your own, sliding his tongue against your own, teeth catching on lips. Chests pressed together, skin burning, burning, burning--

--When he pulls away, you both laugh -- him like windchimes, and you like gravel and dirt and whiskey and the secret things people do in the dark places of a bar.

vi.

"I am Adam," you say, with gold-spun hair, frayed jeans, and an angular frame, voice low and drumming.

"I am Eve," she says, with ribbons in her hair, a white dress and whimsical voice.

happilyeverafter.

You're awake, finally.

sleep, per chance to dream

my joints creak open like a bedroom door,
they invite you in,
you're never here, where i need you to be.

i wonder if i can just s t o p,
but there's a promise written
between the lines of your hands,
they will never stop haunting me,
my white cotton sheets rip in my grip,
and i dream like smoke,
you twist and turn and dance
around my consciousness.

i could use some sleep tonight.

heartstring

. one .

{tracing the inkblue lines across creamy parchment,

 & writing out the rhythm, one-two, of your heart.}

. two .
{running underneath the black corded powerline, high above,
 electric connections in 2 hearts, skip a beat, over the distance.}

. three .

{looking out for the bloodline thrumming with redredlife,

 your touches hold  me and your pulse makes this real.}

love&time conspiracy

          an ever-hungry mouth, like a demon-child, swallows up golden sodium chloride grains,
          that flow through cool glass curves,
          time runs.

          greedy fingers reach up for the fireworks sometimes, as they light up the face of a thousand lost souls,
          thrown into the darkness again, when the stars and moon are blown out like candles,
          love runs.

          through our veins and our smiles and our hearts.
          this is it.

fall apart

there are stars and galaxies and  diamonds falling apart in my dreams,
i dream of your eyes as they look at mine,
there are stars and galaxies and diamonds falling apart in your eyes,

words and imagery and wishes and inspiration kept in a shoebox,
of old, yellowing envelopes and scented violet napkins,
drip, dripping, dropping out through the corners of thirsty sahara eyes,
waterfalls from my pillow to make an ocean underneath my bed,
to match your eyes.

steady drips

like that elusive dream,

slipping out between my fingers,

dripping through the gaps,

of my prayer-cupped hands

i can't remember your face,

anymore.