I.
fireworks went off behind our heads- erupting in exploding star explosions, and maybe it was cliche but you were thirteen with kaleidoscope eyes and I was fourteen with streamlined scars of the past year, and it was first love.
Every jagged edge fit and as we walked around the cobblestone bridges of Florence- with the back drop of Cathedrals and what happens when you give Renaissance
paintbrush happy artists a city to paint, and limitless colors, it was a waking dream.
I.I
We tasted strawberries as I glowed in disbelief that anyone could look at me the way you did- as if I could be beautiful with my pale veins and shunning scars, and recent secret dreams of taking off as 'Runaway Love' blasted morphine through my eardrums.
I.II
It sounds like fireworks are a metaphor of my artistic vision to detox my words of cliches which sounds halfhearted, since that is the most cliche metaphor used in any lovesick syllables. But as your neck bent towards me holding my hips to your gravity, and my spine in your palms- overexcited Fiorentina fans shot off exploding rainbow sparks into the Italian night sky, as soccer balls flew from goal to goal, in the local stadium.
Your lips whispered ' You're so beautiful' to my silken hair, softly drifting molecules to my ears in a memory I loved with pangs of peaches and cotton candy. While our bodies learned how to meld rough edges and find a connotative intertwining that worked, I started out wishing that those moments were over so later alone I could relive them and pause and replay each of my firsts.
I was so stupid , though. Our time ended too soon- in averted eye goodbyes in front of knowing parents, pretending the sparks weren't flying in both of our memories of the past hours even as the echo of moving lips still raced through our cheeks.
I.IV
But amidst your arm around my shoulders, casual as if I wasn't completely pretending it wasn't happening while talking to a friend- so afraid of being judged after three months of being socially excuted and neglected every day- I started learning.
As I told someone else the way you had brushed away my hair from my face, I would smile - shell shock casings imbedded in my skin full of plain happiness rather than some pleasure at telling my friends, or some way to finally have the upper hand.
That didn't matter anymore- because I believed in first loves, and that I belonged to you just as your palms belonged imprinting my vertbraes into your finger tips, a picture frame to hold as the summer divided us.
I.V
In the backdrop of mosaic stained glass and a language full of in between the lines meaning and simple grass blade beauty- lethally fragile, centuries of a heritage had become a part of who I was, an inheritance I had learned to treasure.
In the middle of all of that- I fell in love for the first time, experienced moon spice lips loccked in star spangled shapes that would construct the memories that would breathe for me, when I began to suffocate.
Even as I drown on airless land, and suffocate on broken wings- I'm grateful because the last night we got to fall for each other- neon grey and shimmering poppy amber stars built into vibrant lavender patterns broke the night open above our moon spice lips- breathing cotton candy and a beautiful end to childhood into each other's lungs.
I was so lucky- and for a while there, I did almost fly.
http://farfe.deviantart.com/art/Behind-118917988
Honorable mention
Silver trophy winner
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