For All Fantasy

I am riding to you a dragon and it is red.
Flexible four-tipped wings silted in sleek,
strong back built for lasting.
Two seats.
Claws clamp like nutcrackers around the ends of branches,
and you’ll see.
When they see.
Their mouths cave,
their mouths pond,
their mouths empty ember and I told them,
do not forget she is warrioress,
knuckles in birch bent over backwards for your perch, pesky birds of
better start straying,
watch this ground shaking like a broken anklet,
like a cop club floor and they are cuckoo teeth
capital apple smile—
as in they don’t know
that I’ve always needed to know your name.
That you are solar system sunlight to a backyard stargazer.
Tell me you’re more than a number,
believe it until it has a flavor,
and I will roar to their ear canals that boats are coming and they shouldn’t have built bridges.
Comic book boom and there’s a battle in a bottle,
treaty tossed to the waves to save your sanity—
as in, it’s coming, they’ll see.
FaceTime me into their kingdom like a sunken spy,
ship of parentheses and unseen beams and I’ll blink into your library.
Like no losses. Like toss this backwards as a candy wrapper and swallow.
We’re in the shallows now. Safe and safe and safe and sound.
Wrap your wrist brace and stand feet planted as core strength,
as in I wish I may say I am coming.
I am writing to you a dragon and it is read.


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