Consent and Blah-dy Blah-dy Blah

Tossed shadows from up ahead.
Cloudy sky.

An unexpected energizing embracing peck beneath the falling ceiling
that the timeline future person reruns and shouts consent to
because that was the moment in her history
when she first began to love the rain.

Many a lover receive a letter.
XO. XO.
Return to sender
a some.

Many a lover are endowed with a bouquet,
but unrequited love makes the sentiment weird,
and the flower bearer runs away forever.

Consent is spoken from a consequential future.
And there is little to know till tried.

Consent and blah-dy blah blah.
Love is a matching of frequencies that were emitted from the voice of the past.

Consent
was born in the belly of free will
who passed during her labor,
and the kingdom ceded itself to another
in winter
for a spring.
That is the giving of consent.

But the snarling claws of free will
broke through the belly of her mother, society,
and sleighed her
and drank her blood for eternal youth.

A child could be an adult if the child was apart from its guardian angel
because free will
is rebellion,
and if free will is rebellion, can't a child rebel and thus have free will and thus have consent
and thus not be victim of an adult's romantic fantasy?

Drunken lovers rape each other.
They say you can't give consent while under the thumb of influence.
But if you run under the thumb,
is that your consent?
They used to love each other and still be consensual,
a harmony of notes through a drunken drum film.

That's the what if. What if that's love?

My disposed grandmother at age 10
saw my grandfather preaching at age 18 and dreamt.
It was years and lives later that she did marry him.
But she gave her consent and along the timeline, it didn't waver,
and her soul would blow a trumpet in the praising square of heaven urging on her past self free will to want and desire.
It's consent from the future.
It perplexes us all,
but it's true
that many things are not surely manipulative.

Happiness is consequence, and only by that consequence that is far from the now
is the poppy bloom of consent.