It was hot
it was confusing
it was safety-danger and
flawless-fucked
it was love in some form.
But
We used each other to forget,
simultaneously experiencing and creating escapist fantasy.
Together we re-wrote and read New
Tolkien among clasped fingers,
between urgent lips, and on soft
earlobes.
I traced Escher's spirals on your
shoulder-blades and you saw them in my uncut hair.
Our perspectives were warped and novel,
taking twisted cues from del Toro in
the films we projected behind dilated pupils.
Emulating Ailey we danced – in
walking, talking, sex, & sleeping.
As with a good book series, we'd lose
ourselves in each evolving iteration, consuming the fantastic
ravenously with no thought to that final phrase.
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