There is something about the afternoon hour which drowns
me in feeling–it is cadmium yellow and saccharine, it clings to my teeth
nectar-thick and
this shit will rot me to my core, i think
right.down.to.the.root.
nostalgia hits me like a blow–dandelion tuffs trail bubbles
like will-o-wisps–but i welcome the memory with
masochistic palms, split open and bleeding
it grieves me and
weeps out of me and i burn with the high of golden hour
my hair is strawberry blonde because i absorb
all of the light. it consumes my very being and gods do i relish
the tenderness of a sunburn
i offer myself to this inferno. spike my innocence to a stake. just
as long as i can feel the sun
let me re-create scenarios and I’ll live in them forever
this shit will rot me to my core, i think
nothing tastes as sweet as sentimentality.