Warm dragons breath, breaths fire on my cheek
Statues of knights just beyond my reach
I soar the sky just to fight the urge to stay grounded
I drift I drag I draw
Closer to my prey

sweet as our lips,
summer boy,

dream of blue stone,
as the night flows like a tide,

burgeoning like a drifting
cloud,

you are my boy of dream,
blossomed from water
and moon,  from crystal light -

i long for you
summer boy,

as the last stars vanish,
blunted like the hills.

I still remember
third grade.
When poetry was made
of rhymes...
Oh, the good times.

We were taught the sun
was a happy thing
and we would sit on a swing
smiling at its wonder,
unable to wait for summer.

And I know while
the sun's wonder
does indeed bring summer,
it also gives way to thunder
and rain.

Now that I'm older
poems have grown colder
and I know sorrows
are not conveyed
in rhymes.

You should believe in love, girl
One day it's going to find you
Love will say your name
and you're going to fall

It's going to be okay

When it's real and unmoving
At your side when you're low
Love will say your name
and girl, you're going to fall

It's okay

I know that I can be selfish and narcissistic and self-destructive, but underneath all that, deep down, I'm a good person.