The sun inside of him
rages like wildfire
and he is
gold
gold
gold
and he is
scorching the skin of my heart,
yet still he pretends
that he is safe for me to love,
that his hands are gentle,
that his fingerprints won’t be
seared into the notches of my spine.

The sun inside of him
could set the kingdom ablaze;
he knows this, he does.

And he still asks me to love him,
to face the flame.

Find me in the ashes.
—Emily Palermo, Apollo

[ph: rachel barren]

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