i won’t tell you his name but
it’s very beautiful still inside my mouth
and i could have civilized him and
brought that innocence softness of him
into everyday candlelight.
the places where i go, now,
are only places where he smiled at me
once
but all is fiction and idealized in this locked
box inside of me
and my mind, which he
maybe would have softened.
i am mourning something
that never
was
i am licking at the burn scars
of a grand, fantastical
what if
and i am only nineteen years old.