things you cannot become alone

by Jesse G., 18 (he/they)

this is where i end and you begin. starless nights in the shape of pennies, handfuls that i
       fasten away into this wretched singularity
       rendering into sinew—here, feel it here—

this is my hand and my chest and my stomach. the coins i swallowed like lightless dusk. and
       a memory of you, again, copper consigned to turquoise consigned to salt in the Hudson River.

this is our eulogy. tired huddled masses yearning to breathe free. something precious that
       our mothers tell us to kill because
       boys cannot be
       happy with each other, ever.

this is perseus. defying tragedy, saving andromeda. clutching this cursory happiness to the 
       jaded venom of the gods, because
       fragile things can be
              nurtured by mortals too
              can’t they?

this is fate. ancient triads of women and scarlet threads. silver mountains in the Duat. i am here and i am here and
       we are sitting across
       from Anubis as he
       asks me if this is
              what you wanted,
              does this
              feel
              right?
       then he
       releases our hearts
       onto the scale
              (diseased little things)
       before i can
       speak at all.

this is everything beautiful and everything terrible. crashing in and out of time like universes. like smallish souls and human beings. like string symphonies and puddles of rain. and i am the women and i am the thread and i am Anubis. and i am gravity, weaving beautiful things into existence and
       then watching them die.

this is where we surrender to want until it collapses into need. breathe with me, just like this. this is where i end and you begin.

New Jersey, United States