To taste the ignorance of bliss amongst youthful bodies dancing shamelessly in the horizon. Flesh swaying and yet clinging perfectly to the glow that can be savored but once in life. I wonder if youth is worth being lost so as to be remembered amongst tulips and honey dreams.

If only your euphoria against my hips could make it true.

taste me as naked as the sun is bright, darling.

-

Matthew

03:28

I turn again

03:39

He had said yes hours ago, he had been in my grasp and amongst by biggest wave of lust within bounds of fear, anxiety. I sat staring at the wall one earphone on low volume, listening to a mix of good morning and the beat of my heart. A voice of the night.

He was so pretty. I would always think that along with.

What if someone saw us.

Or what if my parents are right and we'll burn in hell for what we've done. What we can't take back. What we can't recover from.

What if I could change it. Would praying work, maybe I never prayed hard enough, or well enough. Did I need to cry more, suffer so that God can drag me out of it.

Did God exist or was he something made to validate my existence? Tell me that there was hope after this tunnel. Was he even a he? Is the bible anything more than stories. Would it give me solace if everything I knew to be true came up a lie.

16 years of deceit.

3 years of fear. Tasting it in my parents scowl and my lucky charms.

"Matthew, kiss me"

It drove me insane most nights. But I had no guts to let it out. Not even to the one I managed to cast love spells with each time we tasted crimson. I crushed him in my palm and made him into syrup, made him sweet with me. Made him yellow and blue.

Two colours, never quite opposite yet never close enough.

I was crimson in him, he was velvety. His touch, the way he bucked. His hips.

What if there was a camera crew recording my thoughts (the CIA) they may be watching me. What if they told my parents of my blasphemous thoughts. Of the way I touched him, the way I pushed him near edges of sanity so I could get a rise from him.

Was what we did sex. What's even counted as sex.

What if I force myself into marrying a woman and she could tell I'm not a virgin. Like from the the way I kiss or something. Would she tell my parents. If I came out (I knew very well I didn't want to)...

Would they kick me out.

Would they disown me.

Would he move on from me, he liked Clara at one point. Else he would've never kissed her, shown love to her for so long. Did he even like me or was I fooling myself.

"You know the way you walk is funny,"

"How so?"

"Honestly maybe it's because you're built like Goliath. But umm, how did the thing with you and James go."

"Fine, he forgave me. We're cool now."

"What even happened between the two of you?"

Don't tell her. She'll tell mom, or Adam. They'll kick me out.

"Nothing really, just some stupid thing. It's fine now."

"Oh okay, bye."

She cut the call. Was there a fear of betrayal in the way she dare not ponder? Ask so as to know but rather for my comfort know no better.

I wanted her to know, oh so bad I did. Wanted to tell her of my love (affection is what I called it) for him. Ask how to win over a man. What to wear, what would compliment my body, hair. What would make him love me so I didn't lay lonely in the scents of Aphrodite. Taste folk tale and myth in the way I dreamed of futures for us. Bright.

It was never early enough to wonder what ring would suit his finger. I was but 16, no.

I knew not what to do for our date, so I settled on stealing his car. Dive him to a desolate area and have a picnic, bring a movie two.

"So 1 at yours?"

"Yes, " I began smiling "I'm going to drive us somewhere special."

"You don't have a licence"

"But I can drive, that's the most important thing"

He huffed at my display of flagrant tenacity, there were times like this throughout my adolescence where like most idiots, whose hormones barely differ them to that of a banana, in which I saw myself unstoppable a force to be reckoned with. An alpha, the leader, or at the very least someone who could jump off that bridge and know there would be no wife, kids and responsibilities that would mourn me. I didn't know time was as fleeting as my body, my skin. his skin turning that shade of fear and weaving and gyrating within itself.

I wish I could go back, y'know what I mean.

"And what would you know of manners"

"says the one"

He snickered beside me, knees curled up, body lifted until his feet rest on that place that I still can't name above the glove box.

"Where to, Winnie the pooh"

"Next you say that I will cut off your tongue," I turned to him for a second in attempts to amplify my point only getting a guttural laugh.

We got there, that field I heard of some time back. bunches of flowers reaching my hip. He gasped and yet awe never left that space in his iris, twinkles in the day that lit up my nights. Never needing a candle nor a moon if his eye would shine like that again.

"Remind me to come here daily"

"Only if it's me you come with"

He smiled flames within June that burnt my throat, throttling my inhibition.

I brought the basket from the back seats he began running, away until I could hardly see him. I ponder now and again,

Was he running away or chasing after something.

Was it love, the causes for love, running away from responsibility. Did he chase lust or did it chase his crevices of flesh merging with flaming cries. Did he fear something so as to run or did he chase something he thought he needed, something that he thought would bring him peace as mortal as himself? Immortal in the way it made him feel less inadequate. Taste butter in olive droplets down tanned skin bitten red by those things he chased. those things (dare I call myself a thing) that chased after him.

So I ran until I saw him, out of breath pants as he held his chest staring to the sky not quite blue, yet bright enough, blinding.

"why-"

"look"

He showed me birds flock east to west in a v shape. They completed the sky backdrop as those blues fluttered between feathered wings.

I laid down the blanket, as he got up to sit on it. He smiled at me, my smile brightening tenfold, then watched my hand dig into the basket to get my laptop in which I downloaded movies. One of which being a comfort of mine, Ratatouille, and Up. I also downloaded some Winnie the Pooh stuff, things which I watched day and night all those years ago. I still watch once in a while now.

"Thanks for this, " strawberry juices flowing from the side of his lip, curled up.

"You're welcome, and I'm sorry for how bad I treated you."

He smiled again, that lopsided one "All's forgiven, but it would be more so if you fed me some of those chocolates and those sandwiches, is that an angel cake"

Curled lip tips, I placed a chocolate-covered strawberry atop his. Let them map out his splits and that chapstick in which I wanted to taste. Had he yet changed to a new one, what flavour would I taste that day?

"Thank you"

He jumped into my arms making me fall back, stared down at me and the spaces where yellow and green should've filled. He looked lost. In what I wouldn't know as I was as lost. Staring at each freckle between his part. That part in which I could call my home and rest pineapple smoothies I made in. I could read in that crevice and cranny.

I flew high and wide on a magic carpet ride.

Lips atop my own his hand moved rode up my cheek, touched burning July in red and sweaty. Fell back to my neck, rested between my opening. That place he could place any enquiry to the brain. Ask where my sweet spot resided, so he could torment it. Appeal to edges of sanity. Call my name as his, so that I could become closer.

"Turn"

He barely got out, not pulling away for air because what was air to adolescent. To the unstoppable. Those incapable of being inhibited.

"What"

"Turn us over"

And so I did.

I let his head rest on patterned blankets between beds of flowers and rose lips. Tulips. Taste better between his gasps, daffodils. Sunflowers. Lillies. Cry a little more lavender as he grasped my hair so as grasping me between beds of Lust and Lobelia.

Desire inside of him, Dahlia.

Blueberries between crushed palms and strawberries down lips wet. Eyes grasping at things, euphoric.

His breath hitched as I latched to his throat.

"God, Matthew"

"We can't."

I stopped at the last syllable.

"Why, " my eyes inquired more than tone.

"My shirt doesn't cover my neck"

My smile arose once more, " But it does cover your stomach right"

He looked at me confused until my head just above his navel pulled away pesky inches of cloth. Touched him with my tongue, a gasp.

"Ma-"

I began blowing raspberries at his stomach, inspiring cries that differed little from moans and shrieks. Breathless and sweaty underneath me, I stopped so that he could catch and not quite earn a breath.

After some time I stopped looking up at him from below, he still gasped. I crawled until his head, bright and sunny sweat droplets striking comically at the sun. Until I felt his breath at my neck.

Born to be blue yet when there is a yellow moon above me. Thrill. Bliss. More than a creation such as myself.

Some folks are meant to live in clover

I was meant to live in a spot between his neck and cries, bathe in daffodils and dandelions.

"I haven't made a nickname for you yet"

"I need to, " I continued.

"You have tho, I thought I was your Elio"

"I mean a different one of course"

He looked up,

Like really looked into me. And my lips smiling.

"Okay then what"

"Piglet"

His face scrunched, "what"

"You called me Winnie, no. So I feel like your most compatible with Piglet or Christoper. But I rather you are not a human and me an animal, so piglet it is."

Disbelief, the cute kind. Played in his iris.

"Piglet and Christoper Robin. Are you five?"

...

"No, but isn't that what you love about me. My childlike taste."

"Na, I just think you're hot."

He snickered though I didn't find it all too funny I couldn't turn away his smile, snicker and serenade. The serenade being his fingers climbing up my back touching my neck and head bringing me lower. And lower. And lower.

"Matthew"

"Piglet"

"Idiot"