“Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.”
And then let me weave a tapestry
from those very words and show you cities
with golden temples, disappearing skylines
and naiads bathing in flowers.
Let me tell you a story of ignorance –
of blissful wildfulness to love ourselves
to destruction. Let me ruin you.
To the point nothing tastes the same,
and bitterness feels like crushed velvet.
Tell me you love me in spite of yourself.
Tell me how all this is transient, is fleeting.
And then let me weave a tapestry
with our very limbs and show you meadows
burnished in silver light, pools of tears
and Morpheus’ heavy lidded eyes.
Let me sing you to sleep. Let me ruin
what it means to be me.
“Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.”
The line in italics is from Richard Siken’s poem, Scheherazade.
Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2020
