i.
he comes in
a slow burn:
each drip of honey
down the inside of
my skull
takes
years.
ii.
the wings are
on his feet
his hands
his eyes
(no one warned me
of the exhaustion
of loving a god
who never
stops flying)
iii.
his fingers leave
bruises on my
shoulders and
he does not
touch my face,
only: every edge
of my body
only: every
tangential line
only: every point
where streetlight glow
hovers on my skin.
iv.
we are crystallized –
his grin is amber
and i – just words
and knucklebones.
in the morning
he laughs like
ozone and the itch
of ram’s fur, keratin
bravado and teeth
white with lies. i
beg for him every
night, knowing then
he will only come as
a tired god:
vulture screams and
restless dead and
a nebula for a face.
i do not flinch.
the weight does
not hurt. it only
crushes.
v.
scars bloom on
my skin with no
wound and i
name each one
after him (he
purifies me
through pain
and i love
every white-hot
second).
[devotional piece for Hermes. crossposted from my tumblr.]
antlered 