(no subject)

[apiphile]

half, a quarter, and an eighth

because you lived with your head
inside your familial asshole
you never smelled anything but their shit
never heard anything but their heartbeats
and for this i am supposed to envy you.

i who have heard the birds singing at dawn
and the whispers of lovers in a thousand tongues
i who have smelled roses and truffles and sunset curries on hot summer afternoons
should yearn for the suffocating monotony
of your normality?

and you tell me to kiss you on the mouth
and i hate the taste of saliva
and you tell me to hold your hand and there are no calluses on your fingers because you don't understand what it means to work and i don't understand what it means, you say, to love.

because you have lived your life in the embrace of faith
you never heard anything but the voice of god inside your head

and i can hear the song of the wind and the ancient whistle of the dying stars in the vast dead night

i don't want to hold your hand
i want to take flight.