17 January, 2020
Queerplatonic
if I wrote you a love poem : you would have pearls at your wrist and teeth at
your throat : wolves have suckled you : in my love poem your skeleton would be
soft as a pulse : wrapped in blue rain : fox skull socketed with yellow coneflowers
: in a house filled with black water I’d find you dead and suspend you from rafters
to drain all your blood : let your flesh dry like a rare shark your limbs packed
with ammonia : and write letter after letter to you over three days until you woke
: remind you how we corresponded for years from one city to another in code :
dawn chorus meaning marrow full of sorrow : but I refuse to write a love poem : I
refuse to make just another coffin for uneasy breaths : to bind you to a you that
is no more than you than I am the I : slender and breasted enough for men to
arrange in a cage of antlers : I refuse to make a place where friendship means
less than : where love has to mean I want to make a braid of the soft hairs at the
nape of your neck : instead of saying I want to be gathered in my bones in your arms
like roses in the robe of the blue mother and cry until salt dissolves me I say let’s walk
the roadcuts looking for philodendrons because I refuse to make a house where
I would be forgotten : leaning ladder : and because to say raze every tender curve of
my skull is supposed to be too much for friendship : because I cannot handle the
choking gasp of drowning of being told it is not love if I do not want to cleave
body in two if saying love means nothing in this too-large house to you if I could
not say sun instead of fuck o you o yes :