Poetry by Adhi Kona

Edited by Cai Pasco

They say to be careful what you wish for, and that’s the thing— 

loving you was nothing but careful.

We were two boys playing dress up and putting the fairy in fairy tale,

making magic for each other, wearing glass slippers and dancing in them

even though they were prone to shattering, 

swaying in and out of the shards well past midnight,

doing the things we always dreamed of, even though it hurt.

It’s been months.

Every wish is once again as distant as a star.

I don’t know where you are, but it’s not the waking world;

trying to find you, I tripped and fell,

I hit my head on the pavement of us,

and even though the cement tried to be forgiving,

I find that I can’t wake up.

How to explain? There’s been a casting call for my daydreams,

and memories are lining up around the block.

Reiterations of the same abandoned script haunt me like warmth haunts fire,

dreams of you being willing to talk to me again, dreams,

where I’m free to miss you because you can bear it, bear to be around me, baby,

everyone could be the next star, the next you, because

you’re everywhere.

I never seem to wake up. 

I was a burn victim, but I don’t care.

I can’t bear the cold air without you either.

My god, my arms are empty,

but I have held you so many times since I last saw you.

Every single time, I was asleep.

How is it that I only woke up once you were gone,

and dove back under the covers,

desperate to find you?

All the joys that are no longer mine to cherish

have become the game I play for hours

instead of going to bed,

burning my eyes with their brightness,

every moment of queer paradise also a nightmare waiting to happen,

a dream I long to wake up to,

always

interrupted—

Baby, we never did end up moving in together.

But I’ve come so far, and the fantasy has done its work.

The clock has once again struck midnight.

I’ve fallen asleep at our door,

and all I dream about,

is us.