The promise of a thousand kisses:
has always been a lie. Slipping away into
momentary bliss. Slipping away into
a single, sultry night sky.
I’ve always hidden the colour of my heart.
Tucked away its rose-filling, its pink catastrophe
routed in desire.
Tucked it away as boys
acted upon their upbringings like blue-bellied snakes
spitting father’s venom directly at
me: a lone rose-petal
with navy skin and the inability to change
the shade of its desire.
I found an ocean of blue toys and drowned my heart
in its riptides and currents. I found
the promise of a thousand kisses
and let her brainwash my blue lips—
each lipstick stain, a stab wound.
Then eventually, I discovered
you: Friday nights and their fire fumes,
your gold spreading to the flower beds,
your smoke heading for the heavens.
A golden heart. A medal you parade
around your neck like fine jewelry,
bought with your father’s brimming wallet.
Do you want bronze? Silver? Platinum?
Would you settle for a lone petal?
If you want me to burrow my skin, my bones,
in a pink lie, I will.
You forced those Friday nights golden,
and it felt safe to imagine
rose-gold skies! Your heart sliding
into mine. The fire fumes consuming
the flower beds.
I awoke to my body buried in ash.
All colour, gone.
Your thousand kisses, a lie.