To Soar On Icarus' Wings

how i yearn for you.

my heart beats under my skin,

the size of a single fist.

how ever am i supposed to keep all of my love

contained within its walls?

my adoration spills into everything around me

i see you in the soft melodies

of the songs you recommended me

i hear your footsteps,

steady against the streets we walk together

your voice speaks from the pages

of the books we shared

gentle and reassuring,

as dependable as a heart’s beat

my beautiful boy

blue eyes shining in the sun,

reflecting the light like waves

sparkling behind your glasses.

how i love to run my fingers

over the slope of your nose, the arch of your cheekbones

i could memorise you with touch alone

my hands find purchase across the sharp lines of your collarbones,

the planes of your back.

i twine my fingers with your hair,

amber curls wrapping my gentle touch

when we lay in bed together, when we hold each other,

every inch of you is wonderful.

your kiss feels like worship, your whispers like prayer

my dearest love

though i know you will return one day

my yearning continues

my faith in you,

in us,

keeps me going, makes each day bearable

reminds me that i’m doing this out of love

out of all the love in the world for you

bathing the sky in a deep blue

every inch of me protests

as i encourage myself out of bed,

at a time much too early for most.

my mornings are usually silent,

trying not to make too much noise,

lest i wake anyone else.

but then my screen lights up,

he’s awake.

regardless of the distance, the time zone,

i still wake up beside him.

my tone is gentle, if a little concerned.

why are you up? it’s awfully late.

he tells me

he’s waited up for me to start my day.

i smile to myself,

he won’t ever know how much that means.

won’t ever know how much easier it makes the early rises.

and while sleep protests my new schedule,

i think of how it felt to wake up beside him,

really this time, not just through a screen.

i woke before him, more often than not

his internal clock delayed

by the hours that used to split us.

i watched his chest rise and fall steadily,

coloured golden by the insistent rays of sun,

splitting the curtains that never quite shut right.

and soon the steady rhythm of his breathing would change,

his arms would shift around me,

and his eyes would open.

to observe me watching him,

my fingers tangled in his hair

and he smiles.

oh, that smile

the way his eye crinkle at the corners,

i could get addicted to it.

he mumbles a sleepy greeting,

and i kiss his forehead in response.

i wonder if he knows the effect he has on me

i wear my heart on my sleeve,

my feelings clear and obvious for anyone

who even so much as takes a glance at my face.

so i’ve never really had to sit down,

and explain my feelings

even less in such

a delicate situation as this.

my thumb trembles as it dances across the keys,

hesitating over the send button

an expression of anger in the text box.

my anger is my mother’s.

so much so that every time i feel it,

i can hear her in my head.

the words like knives she turned towards me,

and drove into my fragile heart.

it’s a foreign feeling, burning in my chest

like poison

tears prick at my anxious eyes,

blurring the screen.

i see the profile photo i’ve come to adore pop up

you’re typing.

my heart leaps to my throat,

working against me to fill my body with nausea,

my mind working on overdrive

to tell me this is it,

i’ve really put my foot in it now.

i catch sight of my reflection in the mirror and see

her.

the woman who distanced her own child

with anger she never learned to deal with

all of a sudden my vehement promises

not to become her

to be different

weigh on my chest, suffocating me.

hot tears coursing down my cheeks remind me

that despite wearing my feelings like clothes,

verbalising them still terrifies me.

admitting to an anger i try and try

to extinguish like a flame

before it burns me alive,

and brings those i love with it

the sun splits the curtains, bathing him in gold.

i always wake before him, tired eyes drawn to him

soft hands trace the planes of his back, shoulders, arms

i am careful not to wake him.

lest my gentle adorations disturb his rest.

for a moment, i could believe him a sweet vision,

a fantasy of my own invention.

i worry that each shiver, each gasp was invented,

that i created each satisfied sigh in my restless mind.

in this light, he truly is otherworldly, dreamlike.

the reason why i run my hands over him so,

with a slight tremble,

as if he may vanish under my tender touch

like he was never there,

the bed empty beside me.

though, what a wonderful dream he would be,

wandering hands and kind eyes,

unravelling me with his experienced touch and breathless praises

intertwining himself within me,

within the strings of my heart.

if this is a dream,

i wish to never wake