crown of love

find me hopelessly devoted to you

crown of love
Photo by Matthew Henry / Unsplash

by nat raum

After Arcade Fire and Play’s 2004 self-titled album

i.

i’m gonna make you love me, i decide

on a whim in the winter in the wind.

i close my eyes when i fantasize

at night alone and what do i see?

your tongue laps up the beads

of my sweat mixed with lavender oil

mixed with yours. your lips dot

my collarbone with the sweet of saliva.

we are just as much two people

in love as we are two bodies writhing

in the deep recesses of shared

hunger. isn’t it funny how long

we wanted each other before giving

in? now it’s us against the world.

ii.

now it’s us against the world

and we’re kissing and we’re dancing

even though you don’t dance

but you said maybe, if you get drunk

and someone else wants to.

we fell in love during virus season

and never got to go dancing.

i have never been the belle

of someone else’s ball—only

my own in a dream one time.

i close my eyes again and watch

us descend the marble staircase,

my arm crooked into your crisp

wool suit, done up like cinderella.

iii.

face done up like cinderella, i glide

down carpeted stairs in a pink cutout

tee and lace bike shorts; you stand

on my porch. i’ve known it was love

but never held your hand in mine

and never felt those lips. juliet told

romeo you kiss by the book but you

have a whole new slew of techniques

about which no one ever wrote.

lay me down in the embrace

of whatever it is that draws you

so close to the tissues of my atria.

is is true that you still want me forever?

find me hopelessly devoted to you.

iv.

find me hopelessly devoted find me

falling find me fallen. find me

in the cavities of your deepest

daydreams where i’ve seeped

and stayed and set myself up.

you may occupy my every

brain wave but i’m always

growing new wrinkles and new

ways to become obsessed

with your touch. i thought i had

seen all there was in the realm

of love until i took you as a lover

and found myself awestruck,

beaming, asking is it love?

v.

is it love or is it obsession or is it

both because i always thought

obsession was a bad thing until

i met you, so good thing i am

already so predisposed to be

obsessed with someone.

you show me hungry greedy

handsy and instead of cringing

i say more, please. i’ve begged

the universe for this exactly

a thousand times and only met

people who couldn’t carry

the weight of my love.

i don’t get down like that.

vi.

i don’t get down like that and by that

i mean playing hide and seek

with the contents of my heart.

someone does not simply watch friends

die young and decide to be quiet about how

they feel. (it’s me, i’m the someone.) i could

say we speak the same philosophy

but that would be mighty presumptuous.

i digress again. i could never be so silent

in the face of the love of my life.

i will always sing along to your joyful

melody, slap-happy with each high note

i manage to match. your earworm

slips into me like a disco hippie.

vii.

slip into me like a disco hippie

and stay for a while in the folds

of my softening skin. i never welcomed

company but i’d die to see you starlit,

haloed in the twilight of false spring

as another day drops and your lips

curl up to first smile and then meet

mine. you will always be the river

i follow, mouth to silty mouth, silt

to dirt to dust. there is nothing

more natural than our rhythm,

the way we flow together like

a-one and two and three and four:

i’m gonna make you love me more.


nat raum (b. 1996) is a disabled artist, writer, and genderless disaster based on unceded Piscataway and Susquehannock land in Baltimore. They’re the editor-in-chief of fifth wheel press and the author of this book will not save you, the abyss is staring back, random access memory, and others. Past and upcoming publishers of their writing include Gone Lawn, Split Lip Magazine, Allium, and BRUISER. Find them online at natraum.com.