napoleon.

i.

 

we plan on destroying the

world as i cuddle your right

shoulder and compare our

skin tones.

 

‘you’re caramel. i’m winter.’ i whisper

 

‘i hate winter’ he tells me ‘napoleon lost a war in the snow. we can’t destroy the world in winter. it just doesn’t happen.’

 

ii.

 

‘i’m like ice.’

‘cream’ he adds ‘with chocolate sprinkles’

he gently strokes the freckles on my nose and underneath my eyes

‘that’s rotten skin’ i tell him ‘i’m dying.’

‘don’t die because of winter.’

 

i tell him i’m dying because of gunfire in a storm.

i tell him i’m dying because of soldiers collapsing.

i tell him i’m dying because of napoleon shouting orders.

not because of winter.

 

‘i don’t care.

 

just don’t die.’

 

iii.

 

don’t.

don’t.

don’t.

‘please.’

 

iv.

 

‘let’s fill the refrigerator with snowballs,

ice sculptures (swans we chopped the wings

off first are the most gorgeous ones) and

the south pole.

 

that will be our gunfire.’

 

he just laughs and his cheeks are pink and mine are frozen and dead.

 

v.

 

i ask him why he bears with winter.

‘to see you melt by the end of it.

 

 

 

you’ll be spring.’