Flower Boy
by Animashaun Ameen, 3.24am July 10th 2021

 

In the fourth corner of his unlit room,
a hummingbird is sitting its way
through the silence, basking patiently
in the darkness. Waiting for him
to die.

Before the wildflowers wormed
their ways into the garden of his mouth
to steal all the music in his throat,
his body housed all the beautiful flowers
of the world. He planted roses at the tip
of his tongue, garnished his hair with daisies
and watched the sunflowers melt gently
into their selves with his cotton eyes.

In the fourth corner of his unlit room,
flower boy’s head is hanging off
the bed frame. His arms suspended
in the air like songbirds stuck in the
middle of flight, Indian paintbrushes
forcing their way out of the softness
of his throat.

The hummingbird emerged out of the depth
of darkness, perched on the bridge of
flower boy’s nose and sucked out all the
sweetness from his body.
This, here, is the beginning.
This, here, is the end.

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