i.
I’m keeping a picture of him
between the pages of
my bible, not in the way of
an exorcism.
He, dark and fast like a riptide,
leading me with a trail of
cigarettes &
half-said promises.
I listen for him
like he is the silence after rain.
A song of Solomon. I sing
my lips clean
of fact. I’m not looking for
purity anymore.
My grail is found – a romance
that feels like
a holiness that asks you
to fall asleep next to it.
between the pages of
my bible, not in the way of
an exorcism.
He, dark and fast like a riptide,
leading me with a trail of
cigarettes &
half-said promises.
I listen for him
like he is the silence after rain.
A song of Solomon. I sing
my lips clean
of fact. I’m not looking for
purity anymore.
My grail is found – a romance
that feels like
a holiness that asks you
to fall asleep next to it.
ii.
If you stand at an ending
and then turn
around, you are looking at
a backwards reflection
of the beginning you came
from. I want that,
to know where
we started. Even at this resolve,
I do not know where I am.
All I remember
is a kiss that crushed my teeth
and dissolved me into
lavender.
and then turn
around, you are looking at
a backwards reflection
of the beginning you came
from. I want that,
to know where
we started. Even at this resolve,
I do not know where I am.
All I remember
is a kiss that crushed my teeth
and dissolved me into
lavender.
iii.
I put him in my bible
because that's the best place
to bury a person.
The ceiling
falls through my hands,
there is only one place
my mother won't look
for answers
because surely
there can't be anything bad
in there. Is there a better
hiding place than the depths
of a black book?
because that's the best place
to bury a person.
The ceiling
falls through my hands,
there is only one place
my mother won't look
for answers
because surely
there can't be anything bad
in there. Is there a better
hiding place than the depths
of a black book?
iv.
The sky is
a silken crumpled mess
of beauty. I meet a new boy &
he falls into me
because all I am now
is void. I try to sing him.
He is not lavender. He smells
like coffee &
what good is coffee when
all you want is to fall
asleep. My songs
still sound like Solomon.
I push the new boy out with the deluge.
I set him free of my blue.
a silken crumpled mess
of beauty. I meet a new boy &
he falls into me
because all I am now
is void. I try to sing him.
He is not lavender. He smells
like coffee &
what good is coffee when
all you want is to fall
asleep. My songs
still sound like Solomon.
I push the new boy out with the deluge.
I set him free of my blue.
v.
Yesterday, I burned my bible &
I didn't take his picture out.
Love does not know holiness.
The window shattered inward,
letting in a rageful wind that said
I was wasting the time
that I exist outside of.
What use is there
in setting fire to the lyrics
when you have the sacred words
frozen in your memory?
The smoke smelled
too strongly of lavender
for anyone to sleep.
The ceiling was on the floor &
nothing here was blessed.
I didn't take his picture out.
Love does not know holiness.
The window shattered inward,
letting in a rageful wind that said
I was wasting the time
that I exist outside of.
What use is there
in setting fire to the lyrics
when you have the sacred words
frozen in your memory?
The smoke smelled
too strongly of lavender
for anyone to sleep.
The ceiling was on the floor &
nothing here was blessed.
✱✱✱
| Logan February is a happy-ish Nigerian owl who likes pizza & typewriters & memes. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Vagabond City, Glass, Kalahari Review, and more. His book, Yellow Soul (April Gloaming Publishing) & a currently untitled chapbook (Indolent Books) are forthcoming in 2017. Say hello on Instagram & Twitter @loganfebruary. https://vagabondcitylit.com/2016/11/02/black-hoodie-wolfboy-heartache-by-logan-february/ https://kalaharireview.com/the-theory-of-origin-5c51fd2f945a#.hlgzm4t96 http://neurodiversitymatters.com/barkingsycamores/2017/02/21/stargazing-through-silk-blindfolds-logan-february/ |
