By Hannah Hogen
Happiness is a warming revolver and
You are the bullet doomed to detonate upon my delivery, because
You are the sweet sugar free to taste under the cloak of camaraderie.
Happiness is when I chance to dream and during that
You are the red and I am the white and we are the pink
You are the alpha and I the omega and we the God
We the titans searing under the surface
We the bend of the earth and the sail of the sky
We the dreams of a million over million people with hands clasped and eyes wet
We the fate of humankind, we the love consummated in the poet’s pen
We the Adam and the Eve, we the Solomon and Sheba, we the Uranian.
But when I wake, happiness is not these
Futile dreams blessed upon me by the bursting bullet
Where I am the shooter and the victim, and you my weapon of choice
I the romantic, you the platonic
I the watching, I the longing
I the painful, I the wise, you the blind
You the sweet-water held under a layer of ice
That burns and sears its salt upon my tongue
I the carve of a frosty heart
I the craftsman whose labored love bears no fruit
I the noble of neon street signs and hot air balloons, I the monatomic,
You the organic, you the base of life
You the earth and I the void, I the self-fulfilling black hole.
Happiness is watching from the haze of stars and seeing you comforted in the belt of a new sky.