sun-drenched honey dripping fingers over my mouth / and do you ever consider it like that, / a small, thoughtless thing and its wings caught in itself. / do you ever consider it like - / a bee weighted down under glazed molten gold. / i feel like a bee, the dusk trembling through champagne clouds, / i feel like a thoughtless thing suffocated.
say there is a home somewhere, and i am tumbled through a tornado, / say the tornado has wrapped spindled webs around my wrists and sank me into a fairytale land, / sank me into something that warps a sickle of a smile at kansas and refuses it, / and i am simply dorothy but i can’t find my ruby heels glimmering like beads of blood under sunlight. / say i become a savage, hopeless thing that cannot find its way home / but there is a home somewhere.
may, my may / tell me there is home. / tell me.
my mother clasps a palm onto my forehead and says i am hanuman-ji / says i am divine but caught into something mortal, something i cannot understand / says i have forgotten who i am. / i have never believed in virgin mary, not like i believe in this. / my mother glances a palm over my forehead and i wonder if i could swallow the sun like my teeth sharp over a mango / if i am hanuman-ji, tell me i can be greedy, / gobbling up the sun until the scorching juices are trailing at the corners of my mouth. / tell me my lungs would fill over with warmth.
may, darling may, / i am tired. / i want to be secular tonight / a corpse and the antithesis of holy.
may, oh may, / tell me i can rest tonight, / please.
a letter to may // written for @neongodsnetwork‘s prompts week 3