After dusk, I light up the stars.
I drop the shells on the beach before you set out each day; I walk a few steps ahead.
I blow the smoke in the sky to shade your eyes from the gold that drips from my Maya blue chest.
And I know you'd do the same for me if you could.
I step, surefooted, across the water to deliver the sun.
I sleep, soundly, its warmth on my face.
I feed the fire, like an arsonist, and move on while the embers fly. All for you.
And I know you'd do the same for me. If you could.
I run so you can catch me.
I'm ice and an oath.
I leave the door open on purpose.
You and I are a lot alike; kindred children playing with fire.
We swim too far out into the waves and cling to each other while the current inevitably brings us back home.
But only I know how to breathe underwater, only I know why the moon pulls us back.
You would know too.
If. You. Could.
You should.
It's unfortunate that I will never tell you.
YOU ARE READING
Lavender and Leather
PoetryComplete: Sixteen short poems if you like interesting words or if you just like to think about love, lust and operating on your exes in a surgery hall. Don't worry - it's just a metaphor. So: Let's disappear together In the universe you're making; I...
