#god this is a destiel poem....... those stupid homos

[grocerystoredean]

Anyone can kiss me. Anyone can pin my face with two hands and kiss me hard. As with much in life, it has taken me a long time to understand this. I study so many things: the way a hawk’s wings when stretched allow them to dry faster; the way the extract of the foxglove reduces the results of a failing heart, can alter vision if taken in excess, something Van Gogh understood without understanding the exact mechanism. You would expect me, at this point, to reference something from Greek Antiquity, but I won’t. No need. Anyone can kiss me, but this does not mean anyone wants to, does not mean anyone wants to change my bandages when the terrible wings are decaying, the feathers blackening and falling off, the dark blood inscribed on the bandages and sheets. Who on earth wants a man more monster than angel? I lie face down while you remove the bandages and clean up the mess. Nothing a little rubbing alcohol can’t clean up, you say. And when you finish, when you bend and kiss the rotting wings between my shoulder blades, I have nothing to say. But I need something to say. Even now, I still need something better to say than this hush love creates between two people.

Hush by C. Dale Young