"here, a poem about holding hands with the moon on a starless night,"
Pamilerin Jacob
her fingers are warm, from bathing
in sunlight & she tells
me to learn to hug
while closing my eyes, tells me not everyone
is going to run away. i tell her my hands have a history
of holding on to things that do not want
to stay, & my fingers have scars, from having barbs
woven around them. that i have cried
& washed down gardens with salt,
'so forgive me if all i have left to offer is dust.'
the moon interlocks our fingers
& i feel tides rise
inside me, forcing their way out
my eyes. but even she refuses
to stay when the sun starts to rise.
YOU ARE READING
Endless. Blue
Poesia"the day you first told me you loved me, it was hot, the sun picked at our skins like god was trying to kill us with a magnifying glass. . ."
