from our gilded cages here,

we will plot the future like

a novel. my darling, you will

be a cyborg in a crown and

touching you will be electric.

i will be royalty wrapped in

merlin’s robes and your hand

in mine will be magical. we will

exist, monster-other, illustrated

in our prettiest, most awful detail.

in the movie version, audiences

can watch two beings coalesce

into a pangea; their skin will be

inlaid with her sizzling circuitry,

hers with the gold embroidery

that will snake off their clothing

in pleasure. abstract beauties

writhing like gears pulled from

their machinery--allegory of the

totalitarian, fantasy of relief.

in some parallel universe, we

have always been here, living

in the hour of invention with our

feet slipping over the brink. we

were never apart, never forced

to drag science and spellwork

out of our own bodies. today,

we are separated only by the

thin film of time-travel. today, we

are only scrabbling for scissors.

M.P. Armstrong (they/them) is a disabled queer poet from Ohio, studying English and history at Kent State University. Their work appears or is forthcoming in Luna Negra, Red Earth Review, and Social Distanzine, among others. They also serve as managing editor and reporter for Curtain Call and Fusion magazines. In their spare time, they enjoy traveling, board games, and brightly colored blazers. Find them online @mpawrites and at their website, mpawrites.wixsite.com.