i won’t tell you his name but
it’s very beautiful still inside my mouth
and i could have civilized him and
brought that innocence softness of him
into everyday candlelight.
the places where i go, now,
are only places where he smiled at me
but all is fiction and idealized in this locked
box inside of me
and my mind, which he
maybe would have softened.
i am mourning something
i am licking at the burn scars
of a grand, fantastical
and i am only nineteen years old.