TREMBLE

i wish i was thinner so you could carry me for longer

so i slip my legs around your waist and shimmy to the tips of your shoulders. you've grown, darling, and as you heave to your feet, your breathing labored beneath my weight, everything buried beneath my skin sloshes and knots. its hard to trust you: i am dangerously high off the ground because you've grown into something so unlike yourself.
so i dig my fingers into the richness of the sky and pull it apart like bread. the thickness of my fingers against something so beautiful should urge me to recoil but instead i use their girth to augment my harvest. soon there is a gaping hole with all the darkness i've ever heard of, a space too unknowable to explore, and it watches as you stagger beneath my body, dense from feasting. you fall, face first: i was not wrong to trust you, but you should've anticipated this.