fortunately, the sun
Fourteen Sonnets from willa beale & the Orthonym | writ 30 March - 17 April 2025
I. in a cold bed, waiting
i would worship you—of course, i would; as i may worship another, i could also you the vector of my love has endless range: no limit—we penetrate all we touch big feeling, big love, i would worship you: i could obsess myself with your footprints i could write endlessly of the menagerie; what you disdain in the mirror, i acclaim i could whisper such things alongside your ear, perhaps you would quiver at my breath i would worship you, if only you were here: i would erase your reservations you would say, o, how wrong i was as i kissed the soft warm home of your inner thigh
II. Fortunately, the Sun
I am quite uncertain around you when you do things I like to see and hear. I know I am not out of sync with you, though I have a different mind. When you speak, I am listening—not enraptured, but wholly present. Sometimes, I feel guilty because I dream about being worshipped by you. Sometimes, I feel guilty because I consider you alone in bed. I don't consider anything so callous but only to be near you and wanting. When you laugh, I am laughing—my day is better sharing joy with you. Sometimes, I feel guilty because I am moody and unhappy. Fortunately, the Sun is always there even past the clouds, beyond the night. All my friends are like this, always like the Sun, always there past even nothing. I cherish so much the people who cannot know me beyond my presence. Sometimes, I feel guilty for considering that I am so tired of living. Sometimes, I feel guilty for wanting to fall asleep in a friend's embrace. Fortunately, the Sun is always there even past the cold bedsheets and the silence.
III. nothing is eternal
i would worship you because you are nothing to me; you are but a wick of moss festering under autumn leaves i would worship you because you ask me how i'm doing; because when i am about to cry you ask if i'm okay. when i hear you talking, i know you are so careful: meaning is like a precious ember you keep glowing. though i do not want to be married to you, i love you; something is there fascinates me about your being. i would worship you because you deserve my reverence; because others less deserving deserved it also. i think others are afraid of my intensity: the calm fact of my willingness to lay myself bare before anyone. i am quiet but i am sincere in my love for you; for, i am a part of nothing and nothing is eternal
IV. Be Not Afraid
I would worship you because you ask me how I'm doing; because when I am about to cry you ask if i'm okay. Sometimes the stars are mocking our little furies. I worship myself enough: I eat the last piece sometimes. Sometimes, I leave it for others; I starve myself. I starve myself because I think you shouldn't. Over there, way over there, beyond the sea and air, I am a better person. I do not prefer to be a better person always; but, I love to make others proud. I starve myself because I think you shouldn't. I am not afraid, but I do consider scaring others—I consider their fear. Be not afraid: I am safe; and, because I am safe, so must you also be. Be not afraid. No one is better, but everyone is getting there. Be not afraid. I have left the last slice of cheesecake for you. I know how you love the last slice of anything.
V. fortunately, the sun
then on greyer days when i am low and not-so-beautiful, i get a stupid little message from you and smile perhaps for the first time in several hours and perhaps i respond with a stupid little message of my own: i hope you smile. there is nothing that satisfies a desire like mine. if you tried, i apologize. there is no one can satisfy what even i cannot. fortunately, the sun does not care about my satisfaction: darling daily light upon the hairy garden i am tending. then on brighter days when i am high and most-gorgeous, i send a stupid little message but you don't answer me and perhaps it would be inappropriate to come inside you and ask: friend, is it that you hate me or are you wasting away now? fortunately, the sun does not care about my satisfaction: i must have faith that you will be alright without me.
VI. Sometimes, I Cannot
Sometimes, I cannot manage when you gaze at me, smiling. I want to flirt with you and tell you unseemly things. I want to take you to foreign places where there is beauty. I want to make supper for you and rest on your shoulder. Sometimes, I cannot see you when I am looking away. A drowsy numbness overwhelms my compassion. I need space and I don't want to disappoint you. I need release and I don't want to disappoint you. Sometimes, I cannot consider you in the evening. I miss you. I wish you were here. I wish there was a space between friendship and romance. I sleep. Sometimes, I cannot put into words my emotions. Words are misunderstood. Please, don't overthink.
VII. in a boreal forest, the mushrooms are happy
when i am walking and the ground beneath me is gentle it is as though i fade into all the freshness of the wood and that even my thoughts are safe here alike the ferns and the mushrooms and the moss and the crumbling fallen pines that litter all the paths i take and that is like what you are to me. in a boreal forest, the mushrooms are happy and the frogs find overturned stumps to fuck below where the rainwater collects in beautiful leafy broth and the crickets churn their symphonies and the spiders decorate the pines with dewy white tapestries while the foxen and the deer worship the great ephemera that is unknowable to them and while i walk here, i think that this is how you are to me: i am the mushrooms.
VIII. I Did Not Deserve That
I did not deserve that; and, neither did you. What I said cannot be unsaid to us. What I wrote cannot be unwritten. I am remorseful I was not honest. Yet, I have no regrets. You abused me. If I had not done as I did, who knows; perhaps I never would have seen your truth, perhaps I would have been blinded by love. I forgive you, obviously, like Christ. You are always welcome in my Kingdom. You are always more than what you are to me. My perception of you is not stone. Regardless, I hope you are well and safe. I hope love radiates over you, too.
IX. what? what, what?
omg you did not just say that, friend. no, i heard you the first time. i'm thinking. my apologies. you've flustered me, friend. i am blushing—my, but you are bold, friend. oof—people are not so forward with me. i think they find me intense or pretty. they do not approach me and say such things. all my stoic longing is undone now. all i can think about is your voice there: so close, so close, against my hair and skin, against my sensitive little needing, so close, against my longing, and my body. i suddenly feel sacred, so good— with friends like these, who needs fickle lovers?
X. Fortunately, the Moon
On a grey night, perhaps in November, I awake in a soggy fervour, weeping. I cannot remember what your voice sounds like. I cannot remember our discussions. The small, quiet place in my memory, where you live, is burning: red flames soaring. Fortunately, the Moon is breaking through. The grey night is parting and I'm okay. I'm not okay but I'm not weeping now. I never could remember you that way. Wherever you are, I hope there are dogs. I hope there is everything you need. Fortunately, the Moon shines quite proud. It shines o'er Ev'rything, Ev'rything.
XI. fortunately, the Sun
When a friend asks me, "Can you keep a secret?" (when a friend asks me), I say, "Yes, of course; but, can you handle a secret coming out, my friend?" Because the integrity of my trust is a thing that may speak to my character, but the integrity of your character is a thing that definitely speaks to yours. fortunately, the Sun does not give a Fuck about your Secrets, Friend. fortunately, the Sun does not give a Fuck about my Integrity, then. fortunately, the Sun trusts Eight Minutes and A Helluva Long Time. fortunately, the Sun doesn't waver when it uncovers anything. i (and I) am not above anything, not even dishonesty—not even distrust. when you consider me, do you consider your own legacy? or are you just pissed? either way, i trust you will feel something for the Sun even while the Sun feels nothing for you. the Sun feels nothing for you. That is why I have put so much effort into thinking and saying, "I love You."
XII. To a Stranger
Passing stranger! you do not know how hot you are. The air quivers about you and enchants my eyes. You must be he or she I sought in a wet dream. You were a sub with me, a dom with me, you know? When you pass me by and I catch your soft perfume and below, the musk of your effort at living, then I am some voyeur of longing, a beggar, then I am a little dog at your heel, needing. I will consider you, respectfully, surely for days to come, for days to come, for days to come. I will see to it that I do not lose myself. I will ensure you are a sacred affection. Tomorrow, if I see you passing by again, I will find the courage to smile and bid you well.
XIII. if on a winter’s night a passenger
when i have travelled the length of you: lip to lip, kissing along the furrows of your flesh then surely have i berated myself, my idiocy, for never having considered you so sooner friend, my dear friend un'eath my trembling, you surely feel so foolish as me too i did not write this poem for us, but for those whose friendships sing unquiet graces unlistened i am an irregular woman—not-woman, not-man i am an irregular foe of decency, indecency i would sooner eat out a friend than see them navigating earth uneaten i would sooner hold the world under water than to waste another second as we had before
XIV. Fortunately (fortunately,), the Sun (the sun)
Fortunately, as it is with all suns, so endings must come, so endings must be interred in the loam, in the soft loam underfoot below the moss and disquiet. A burning sun is a little death, a cosmic coming over the face of the universe, a shuddering girth. fortunately, the sun will not cease pleasure for aeons. fortunately, the sun will ride our faces into oblivion. fortunately, i am done, and so are you if not sooner. shush! that is the Earth singing most for your pleasure. When you regard these pitiful lines, love a friend in turn, love tomorrow and the spice, love your tongues. love whoever, thy enemy most of all before thy lover, love into the ground and beyond the stars and time— fortunately, the sun will regret nothing, and so shall ye!