You are the marginalia in my mind,
lingering in corners, a slow dance at the end of the night.
As though draped in fur, you carry such dead weight—
cradling your loss as if it were alive.
Only in the starlit solitude of night do you shed your cloaks,
exposing such thin skin marred by time and keeping your secrets.
I cannot trap or tame you.
Instead I wait for you to drop your weapons,
leave those carcasses of memory
and come unbridled to the table.
I wait for you in the dim hallways of evening,
while the skies turn silver grey.
In the golden light of morning, when slowly you rise,
Do you cover your skin and hold your heart still while your blood churns,
the floorboards cracks, the sky ascends?
We are part fire and part dream.
Broken lives that haven’t been broken yet.
Beneath our covers, hidden in the mess of being human,
underneath the sweat and bruised skin,
below the calluses in the most sensational places is that dangerous ground we tread
when we pull our hearts from their cages.
There’s no moment that won’t lead to another
and all these strings that connect us,
these paths forward and back crisscross
and there’s a million things that could go wrong
but it’s worth the risk if just one moment
is that moment when everything changes,
when the world stops and starts all over again.
For every grey departure, every sky clinging to blue tears,
every awakening that brings you that same heartache,
Learn to speak with the mirroring of the sun.
There is no forward or back, just now.
Just now and you.
Blood buzzing, heart running.