a r d e n w i l l
I put behind your eyes a familiar terror—
dark veins coded with angel numbers,
histories peeling sections of you
off the sidewalk, caterpillars
curled in voids of skin—
Oh moon, your face. It is and it isn’t.
No one should have more
than one soulmate. We know
the heart in pieces, the moon
in phases, the object lost in the DMs.
A world too small to be a planet
is set aflame, coughs out half-closed
doors and windows; tears run down
the gutter, where my spell awaits
in funhouse mirrors—mad
smile, warm light, proof of the sublime
created from perpetual ruin, and me
in you, you in me, if only—
arden will is a nonbinary, bisexual poet-disaster who enjoys chocolate chip waffles, glass animals songs, and the rocky horror picture show, preferably all at once. they are editor-in-chief of the winnow and author of acts of performative newness, a mini-chap published by emerge journal in their anthology, "growing pains." they currently live in georgia with their tiny dog, and on twitter where they yell about their favorite things @ardentlywritten.