Where the Weeds Grow Without Any Daylight

The two are dream-borne, 

rough unseen rhapsodies 

of soot and girl bone.  

They furrowed. Aliveness 

kissed root by root into an emergence. 

They made themselves girls, 

almost women. Half-loved 

the same boy from a distance. 

They performed. Falling  

from age thirteen into age fourteen.    

There is an almost chronic 

absence intermittent in them,

the frayed weeds of their love. 

They sharpened. Pining 

for his love to pour into their hearts. 

They are scarcely girls 

in the afterlife of those years. 

Amplified to a ghost-thread,

They burrowed. Imagining

these bodies born into new realities. 

Redo. Relive. Instead, in their 

love-famine, there is no boy. 

A car parked on a lakeshore.

They deserted. Fuck him, 

they said, come into my open arms. 

Celestial ghost soot all over. 

Wipe it off. Their destinies 

a mouthful of sweet monoxide.

They sighed. Fluorescing   

from dreamgirl into dreams of boyhood. 

Just them now. Their binders. 

Their new names. Their warm,

dark night of no other appetite. 

They burned. Searing  

their girl-selves into a deep surrender. 

Ghosted dreams. One year ago 

they were nemeses. Now they 

daydreamed boyhood together. 

They/them. Missing 

the girls they made into unanswered prayer. 

From the ledge I forgive. 

Unbutton my shirt. Cut my hair.

I come where the weeds grow 

without any daylight.