I kissed a boy in a shirt that said Megadeath.
He had ladder arms
Pale, raised ladders, the kind that tell stories
Stories of the kind of pain that I could not
And cannot fathom.
Kissing him felt like drowning.
But not in pain,
Not in the pain that drowned 15 year-old him.
Drowning in happy and ecstasy and too much;
I liked too much.
He was Anakin Skywalker last Halloween
I’ve always wanted to be Padme.
A Couple with their Heads full of Clouds (1936)