HYLAS, on Desire
I am tired of loving
you. I am tired of grasping
grief like a root in the
stumbling dark. My
body is becoming a
catalogue of bite marks
& bruising. My body
is becoming.
and some nights, I
rise like a naiad from
the rose-water lake
of our bath—rough
ketamine and nicotine, rose and English ivy—
holding atrophy in
my bones like titanium
pins.
I am sometimes so close
to drowning that I can
hear the rivers singing
through my body,
memorialising the
tidal pain of wanting.
I have lain desolate &
decimated on other
forest floors, in wilder
& more hungry times
to remember desire and
the unbecoming. If
longing were a garden
in tartarus, all the
flowers would be burning.
Liturgies
listen &
come kiss the
long night
naked
into day.
dusk &
concrete air,
those open
stars, baby
an almost
universe &
a dark
blue
dancing.
a sweet
poison
half
remember’d.
time was
a dying
thing in our
hands
& grief
was eating
all that
I’d let it.
YVES OLADE studies history and classics in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. He's not at all biased. Currently 19, he likes autumn and writing poetry on his boyfriend's floor. His work is upcoming or published in several journals, including the Rising Phoenix Review and Kingdoms in the Wild.
Poetry Tumblr: yvesolade.tumblr.com