you lie on your belly
wide eyed wide mouthed wide awake
the dizzy august sun warms the earth beneath your
leaf-laced fingers
which hold the remnants of a small crushed
bird
looking at it, you say
you've never felt so alive
-and at that the earth sighs
a long, round sigh
because just then
she falls in love with you,
once more
tell me, in that moment,
how does it feel to hold a universe in your palm?
i should know, shouldn't i?
i've held you.
still, i ask, and
your giggles turn the air into
balloons and
rolling hills
as you
turn,
looking at me,
knowing what i don't.
here's what i know:
the ancient greeks called what came before the universe a gap
which coincidentally is what echoes between my ribs
as
you hold me, not the opposite
and i watch you, delightfully unaware that in this collapsing chasm of my ribcage
sleeps my own mortality
which you
press on and hold,
like a secret
breathing as it's token
the naïve devotion of my love, my time, my life
to you.
there is no solace in this;
no horizon of hope;
none.
only your laughter as the
puddles your fingers love into my skin expand into
hemorrhaging pools of want
which in their dying light
serve only to reflect your
omnipotence
as you
hold me, tender and knowing,
across our yawning summer sheets.
and i could quell it, i could
the single-sentence knife of goodbye rests on my lips
ready to be forgiven - and there is
so much life beyond your fingers
and just some time to taste it
so i could, i could, i could go;
i won't.
