Literature
my father a king, my lover a genius, i a fool
my heart belongs to
men whose bodies have
long been cold beneath the earth,
who took their last breath many a
century ago.
i find myself, when i am
alone late at night
without another soul around,
praying to a king i
never knew.
i wish for his guidance,
his approval,
his praise.
when i whisper his name,
it tastes like blood and iron and
paternal.
my kingly father is warm,
stern, reflective, everything i
had hoped my
flesh and blood father
could've been.
i find long lost lovers in
the pages of biographies.
they reach out to me -
calling my name,
grabbing hold of my clothes
to drag me down to them
in between the pages.
each one of them