I’ll meet you in Never Land.
I’ll paint on extra stars as though the sky is stamped in numbers.
I’ll hold hands with the clock until it jitters,
skips an hour,
I miss you.
I’ll meet you in Never Land, then I’ll rename it.
Always. I don’t know, I’m supposed to be good at words,
but maybe I’ll have you paint it a title.
Something interpretable. They’ll call it everything happy.
Your voice is a skylight.
Your sky is a crown.
You are strong and lovely and magical, and darling,
we come from a kingdom of swordfighters.
I’ll raise you an army from the dust rows.
I’ll fly to you.
I’ll meet you anywhere, always, find me—
you’d be the only reason I’d ever try lucid dreaming
as though it would be like a virtual reality
—why can we never have a real reality—
and I could see you even through a dented haze of fragile mirrors, constantly blurred,
or frantic hot spot magma surges recreating islands maybe they can make us
a Never Land.
Even if we can’t find Peter Pan,
oh I love you.
I’ll sign your name on a star.
I just don’t want to feel like I’ll miss you forever.