you stumbled on your way out of plato’s cave
i lent you my hand when you lost your footing
your vampire skin is papier-mâché, translucent, fragile
grazed by the light for perhaps the first time
at night, bob dylan’s ‘theme time radio hour’ speaks wisdom to us
as the highway stretches on and on, and there are no exits
as giant saguaros transform into haunted cauldrons of bats
but not before the police dogs ambush our car on the texas state line
yet the cavern — lovingly crafted by both god and the devil — calls
a grand canyon beneath the earth with a cronenberg treatment
if not for the lighting fixtures, it would have been darker than space
darker than the beginning and end of time and anything at all
we were in middle-of-nowhere new mexico high on each other
and high on things that make people high
our longing gazes piercing through the cavern’s darkness
thought we could see each other’s souls but it was just the drugs
you felt safe in caves, caverns, and behind heavy blackout curtains
where your world is comprised of soft shadows and abstraction
underground lover, vampire lover, porcelain-skinned lover,
how did you know to kill me before I let the sunlight in me kill you
Belinda Cai is an L.A.-based writer, poet, journalist, and musician. She received an M.S. in Journalism and Communications from the University of Southern California. Her writing has been published in VICE, Tinder, Hobart, Car Crash Collective, Burial Magazine, Dream Boy Book Club, Midcult, Bitch Media, Entropy Magazine, HNDL Magazine, CityBeat, Caldera Magazine, Griefcase, and more.