Steel on Tender | Art by Troy Brooks

I was thinking of the times I lost my heart to strangers,

And it occurred to me that each boy stained me blue,

–          each girl red.

 

I remember how they tasted, deep in my throat, in my dreams and puff-blowing sheet streams.

The boys were salty

–          The girls, peach-fed.

 

*

 

Remembering all I used to dream makes me feel wheezy.

I dreamt of enjoying multiple lives, spread smooth over the cracks between each new lover.

Each crack represented to me a leap into a fuzzy world hung far and further from my own (oh please, God).

 

But now there’s no use in romanticising, or counting the branches left broken/unbroken from each lofty tumble.

Each love was a perfect hue of gOld.

Of forgotten.

Of starry-night dew.

Each love since ironed,

Fresh pressed just for you.   troy brooks

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