how you hang in perfection.

a knight
a white flower
an unlying lip
upon lip.

at an hour past grace
i am thinking on the plot
of our delicious fiction,
a future,
our maybe,

you’re a vessel i fill
the wild tale i tell myself
before you are human.

be not yet human,
be my

so i may dare you to gather me,
to drink to the sadness
that begins
with desire,

to scream down the face of this
eyeless, nameless beginningless lover

the wolf at a carcass,
the lava descending
the lily heavy with heat

Sarah Slean

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