Last night I was gifted confetti to throw
as I sprawled on a sticky floor with glitter scruffed against my skin.
They will not marry us
so we marry each other with broken gerberas and body paint and a makeshift aisle down the dance floor,
pop songs and tits out and hands held and the whisper of kisses against the tongue.
Confetti spirals through the air,
happy paper circles, landing on clothes and under feet and knotting through hair.
Today
I lie entwined
with my love
and my other love
as though through skin and teeth we can blot out the hate they stamped
letter by letter
on the pristine sky.
The blue filled with white fumes and we
fix our feet firm on the earth
stand our ground, insist
we will not move.
It is not about us
not truly.
It is about our past selves
and our future
and the lightly stepping feet of their (our) children
as they stretch into their own beginnings,
keeping whole and safe and beating the hearts of I and you and us; burning
for futures spread like spiderwebs
glistening with morning dew against the sun
and strong –
oh love, so strong
– connecting each and every of our brittle souls.
Even if we lose
they will not win.
Hester J. Rook is a Rhysling Award nominated poet and co-editor of Twisted Moon Magazine. She’s on Twitter @kitemonster and her other publications can be found at https://hesterjrook.wordpre
