I am going to go to sleep and dream about legends and their bright white colours with the gold streaking through Icarus and the deepest of purple running down Hyacinthus, like water because I bet you, he bruised that colour when the discus hit him, thrown from that golden hand, and there is so much gold, so much fucking gold.

Let your head catch fire with the swirls of a warrior in smoke. Catch them and feel their roughed up...

“My sun-swept boy” I whispered through chapped lips. I grabbed his face in between my hands and looked in his eyes. They were so tired. I think all of our eyes were tired now. Tired and broken and so beautifully done.

“Oran...” he wouldn’t look at me, he cast his eyes towards the ground and my gut clenched. There wasn’t a single spark there. He didn’t even try to push me away. I stroked my thumb over the sharp...

The glowing eyes with their glowing pride and their dull love is wholly inconceivable and a little bit sharp at the edges and round everywhere else and it tastes like stone in your mouth but it feels like awakening? Like a feather stuck to the edge of your consciousness, a soft reminder wrapped up in the haze of your dreams.

You’d race a planet to the end of it’s days for a hug from the sky and you would scream...