I pushed my cold coffee away
And made a mental note to buy some more pencils.
Wednesday morning was ordinary:
The start of a grey day,
One of paper and pens,
Of desks and drizzle
And morning grogginess.
I was unprepared.
I didn't expect you to walk in, you see,
With yellow-orange light twirling through your lashes
And gold dust on your lips –
Didn't expect the tables to erupt into choral harmony,
the Tibetan throat kind,
And the ceiling to fold out into the sky,
And every ruler and paperclip to spin
Into the dust-dancing air,
A metric ballet for your splendour.
I didn't know every colour would bleed out of me
And coalesce into an array of masterpieces
In desperate hope of even a sliver
Of those eyes.
I hadn't believed it before,
But the moment I saw you,
I was in need.
I was drawn up, lifted by my wrists,
And flung into a world where I could soar
Above waterfalls.
The torrents fell fast and strong under Icelandic Northern Lights
As every planet met Earth to forge the roar and cascade that
Sprayed into cool foam
Under an icy river of veined blue and white –
Majesty unveiled beneath countless stars:
An iridescent sky of glittering droplets,
Each wrapped in a celestial haze
Of cosmic pink and purples.
A thousand times I watched you dive down the rapids
Like some angelic bullet;
Marvelled at your strong wings, art in bone and feather,
Whose sinews pulled you up
And let you skim across the cold blue;
Felt my throat dry as I starved atop the currents,
Hungering and thirsting
For just a glance;
Learnt that, with a soul like yours,
Nothing but everything would be enough.
A paperclip fell.
You didn't so much as blink in my direction.
You carried on in despicable innocence,
Shoulder blades gliding fluidly as you lifted your wings,
Taking the cold spray with you.
I'll fall.
