thorns and other maladies

83

you are
nothing like sunshine.
your eyes are always dilated
like you're made to be nocturnal
and despite the freckles
spattered on your shoulders
you look like you've never seen the sun.
but you're nothing like moonlight either.
your eyes look dim
until your wide smile flips the switch
and suddenly they're so bright
i start seeing colored spots.
and you sound like a person
who's said a million words
—every syllable sounds,
not perfect but practiced
like you speak enough
that maybe someone hears you—
and those who know the moon
know few else to talk to.
but there is light in you.
it escapes out your teeth
when you talk with a smile
and it sits in your chest
when you're holding me close.
it glows through your hands,
but only faintly (that's why
they're so cold),
and i taste it on your tongue
when you twine it with mine
(it tastes like weed
if you wanted to know).
and god.
if you were a firefly
i wouldn't even catch you.
you'd be too bright for mason jars,
too soft for my hands.
i would only tiptoe around
hoping to watch your glow
for as long as you're here.
but you're not a firefly
so at the very least
my hands can touch you
and feel the light
radiate through your skin.
i still can't catch you
—you're too high up there
to grab onto anyway—
but at least
i can reach for you
well.
at least i can try.

—you are made of starlight