february 18th // we are in space (like childhood) (with our blind and brilliant trust)
i.
push
and pull
and hold still,
(a silent yank of this tether
in the pitch-black starry dark
is the only sign that
you’re still out there)
ii.
there is the
unsteady thrumming of my heart
sounding in this small bit of
darkness
that is
paired with the aching plea that
it echoes (after) (before) (with) yours
iii.
(i miss you) (the sound of your voice)
(the way you spoke to me) (your slick-beat-forth smile)
iv.
and as ironic as it is—
as i always used to doubt it, even
with you so near—
there’s this wild, burning, blind
—trust—
that you’ll pull me back to shore,
back to safety, back to home,
(back to you)
v.
overwhelming, this ache of a
blue-black night is—
bitten lips bleeding lavender anxiety
and pale blue-pink
palms sweating nerves and hasty words—
like thick smoke through lungs,
or ancient memories in your head
of times and peoples you’ve left far behind
vi.
i’ll grab your throat in my hands,
gentle and suffocating,
and tell you things you’ll think are stupid
(if i ever own a pig, i’ll name him percy)
(i miss you and i feel it in my bones like growing up)
(sometimes my chest feels like the sky—gaping wide and long, burning everlasting)
then i’ll let you go, folding my
hands tight to my chest (like childhood) and
take a big long breath (split the air with the gaps i leave behind)
and hold it as i wait to see
whether you stay or leave