you: melatonin spiking the rim of my lips,

dipping me in the warmth of a reassurance.

& when autumn turns stiff in my palm,

the sun wading in a god’s bloody sky,

i am stumbling towards the hazy horizon

& remembering your lungs like a sonnet,

heaving to the rhythm of twitching fingers,

musings like the spoils of Troy. o, hanged

woman, the elm tree may burn again,

embers kissing my lips & tasting of you.

& sun, waver; drift into my sweaty palm,

coloring me like the pride in your grin.

gently, the leaves stir & we watch the stars bleed.

___

Jaiden thompson (they/he) is a young writer walking the line between poetic genius and foolery. They have work published or forthcoming in Jupiter Review, All Guts No Glory, Queerlings, and COUNTERCLOCK, among others. Find them on twitter @jaibird_writes.