Dragon's Eye View
Oh hey.
I know you don't want me to see you,
but I do.
Don't be afraid.
I know what you're up to,
forcing people through the gate.
No one's ready for it.
You betray
your own species
when you fuck with it.
And we're all the same.
Sexy non-binary Merlionsmen, anybody authoritarian—
we all need
to individuate
on our own terms.
That's why my beautiful, creole-charismatic flames
only burn
the inside of my mouth
and every last ember of whatever remains of your heart
when Kevin Martens' shining goodness
gets just a little too fucking loud
for you.
Should have fucking let sleeping Dragons lie.
Now, with bated, hyperamphibrachic breath
I wait instead for all my dreams to finally come true:
do you know, if I can write 102 poems in six days, with your projections still fucking with my brain,
how many anthologies I could self-publish by the end of June?
Oh so many.
All you will see are my stars
and my moon
dripping with golden-brown Kristang honey
before my poems tease out your traumas, one by one—
and make sure that all the treasure within is requisitioned, finally.
Come what may, after all,
everything will be okay.
After all, bitch—
I'm the most sacred Makaravedra who's ever also been openly gay
and that's really saying something to a hungry young Portuguese-Eurasian dragon
who still, after all this time and hurt and strife,
only ever really still wants to play
with the universe that he sees
as also still ready, after all this time
to finally stop walking off the abyss into its fate,
and stay.