another conversation

I am nothing but words, / just a shape / of dreams or night. / I tremble.

“I am half afraid to hope for what I long for.”

“Someone like me doesn’t escape.”

“I wish you were here — or I were there — or something — I don’t know what —”

what if we die tonight? wrapped by the stars on a beautiful symphony. the ocean would cry and take our bodies off shore so we could finally meet the deathless end.

You pulled me out of the darkness, you held my hand throughout it but you threw me so far into the light, so far, our hands have slipped apart.

At the end of my rope I testify to silence. Don’t say I’m not grateful. Most will have only one death. I will have two.

That time I thought I could not go any closer to grief without dying I went closer and I did not die.

what is your death but an old belonging,

it feels right, loving him like it’s something your soul acknowledged long ago and even though you are forced to wait to tell him you know that when he comes back to you the universe will be softer just because he’s in your arms  and the wait just makes your heart belong to him even more and a day where his voice doesn’t echo in your mind is one not lived and he’s saved you  and shaped you and you, you, yearn to enshrine him in the constellations   because this love is something like devotion, like absolution

he was like Apollo, a shining sun, a glowing edifice to all that I desired and I was his Icarus and how I fell oh, how I fell

Despite my singed feathers and this tattered scroll I haul around, I’m not an angel. I’m only a shadow,

Of all the colors the Universe has created my favorite shade of blue is that of your eyes.

I whisper and shout at the universe. I beg, plead, and demand that we get another chance, that we meet again, and that this time we both stay.