Glowafter

until the first time again

By Harper Lewis Published 8 months ago • Updated 7 months ago • 1 min read

before the snow got dirty, you loved me,

wrote my name in cursive on the lining of your soul when you

gathered all the courage in the galaxy next door,

swallowed it like an aspirin, leaning your head forward

to ease it down your throat and let the question spill over your lips into my eyes,

and I gave them to you. Remember the perfection

of that moment, a frozen flame dancing like disaster caught in a cyclone for a thousand years,

light—silver and golden,

that’s all we were, and it was everything every bit as much as that last kiss,

your lips clinging like wet silk to mine, no need to breathe.

Time can’t trespass here; this gate keeps itself.

Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.

Intertextuality is my passion.

Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.

My words are mine, not a robot’s.

MA English literature, CofC

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