Love Florescent

The memories are paint, left now only with a kindness as I have slipped out from underneath the rest

But to start,

Each morning at his sunrise he took it upon himself to reign even greater than the day before.

And in the dew-spring he looked to me as if I were also god and youth-tears his prayer

As love florescents, so did he; I couldn't tell you the exact moment but his eyes were branded and as mirrored, he looked to gold.

His habit for greatness left its mark through his fingerprints, and he began to smooth over his world.

Though no matter how many times he touched me, I would not gold, I remained and we both knew it.

Silence pressed harder each time and soon I saw purple oceans and felt watermelon rot:

The image as such as a fly upon the rind under scorched light and an unfamiliar wave.

Tried, he kissed in disbelief, and that was when the loss came

He slipped from me,

crying angel dreams to his night queens

The way I imagine it:

As he entered the museums all alone, he must have sang to each statue,

The light through hollow windows casting aurum-

Illuminating the objectification

How beautiful the cold must have felt.

I can hear his footsteps upon the marble and see his lips upon their corners

“Porcelain”

What a sight it must have been.