If you were to ask him about his port-wine stain
He would tell you it was a burn
And if you were to ask him how he got that burn
He would tell you he was a hero in his hometown
And if you inquired further
He would tell you his hometown
Was nestled in the crevice between two large breasted mountains
And then
he would not be lying
He was breastfeed
And his mother’s name means “Queen”
And she always taught him she was as much
If you watch him in the rain
And notice that it looks like he’s shaking fire off his hands
He’ll tell you he was only dancing
Don’t believe him
He does set fire to his arms sometimes
Especially when it’s raining
If only to see if he can defy the clouds long enough
To mark his skin just a little
His mother always taught him she was a queen
And so he touches women so delicately
They never notice until he’s painted flowers
All over them
Then he burns his arms
So they’ll tend to him
And pay attention more to those marks
Than his port-wine stain
Or the weeds he’s watering on their backs
If you take him back to bed
Do not comment
On his port wine stain
Always thank him
For the weeds on your back
Even as those tendrils tangle
Tell him
He’s getting things right
Don’t say “for once
Do not say
“for once”
When you finally decide to remove the weeds from your back
Do not do it with a rake
Do not attack them
Do not mistake them for malicious
Think of them as dandelions
Sometimes
The beauty just spreads too quickly
If you take him to bed after removing the weeds
You’ve made a mistake
He will notice
And it will break him
Then he will go out into the rain
Without
Setting fire to his arms
Instead
He will notice puddles for the first time
And reflections
And his port wine stain