Night skies expanded over trees, in the distance
we stood on the porch ten miles from any sign
of civilization with warm summer nights welcoming
our laughter into its sweet embrace.
Nervous and clumsy you tripped over
thoughts as you talked, but it was easy
when we both cared about how big the sky was—
how much bigger it was than us, than that house, than a single
night of easy conversation making me laugh. I easily
talked to the dim moonlight letting shadows dance
playfully over your jaw as you listened to the soft night wrapping
us in the music of crickets, knowing it would not last, couldn't last
as long as we wanted. Soft is not a word I would use
to describe you, but in that moment you were soft,
the lines on your face fading into the stars, speaking simply, honestly
about life, about time. Time was absent that night. Our fingers touched
gently, persuading us to keep them there, never moving. No need to move
as the trees breathed slowly around us and we breathed seconds
instead of hours but dawn never seemed to come as night stretched
over our interlocked fingers and listened to our secrets
as we tried to understand nights being endless but still having
to end with going separate ways home with no one knowing of the vast
conversation, your easy laughter taking my hand
pointing to constellations—when you got one wrong you laughed
at me for knowing. Two silhouettes against the night sky stood moving
amongst the stillness of the Earth. We knew time was still passing
somewhere where such a beautiful moon didn't exist, where no such story
was unfolding in the midst of the trees.
YOU ARE READING
The Dragon That Breathes Flowers
PoetryA collection of poetry exploring struggles and growth through the destruction of family obligations and expectations, through love and the ones that weren't the one. Poetry that aims to capture the human experience. I hope it resonates with you wher...
