aries to the east
you are all edges and elbows; wooden
corners, splinter in my fingertip. i
am out of season, catching yesterdays
like a child with insects, ignorant of
their inevitable escape through cracks
in a stolen shoebox. our existence
is not cosmic. we are not the sum of
stars, let us dream of lighthouses instead.
i will not move my eyes from you, if you
open yours a little wider, let it
guide you, a wavelength, a knowledge, our
shared expanse. allow the night to roll away
the sun, allow the world to sleep. does your
mouth get weary of obscuring your mind?
let yourself live where my splintered fingers rest;
balloons on a ceiling, the innocence
of it draped over your shoulders like an
unkind silk, illuminating every
contour. in this, the eleventh month
of opportunity, without a single
step taken and hands left half-empty.
i cannot wish upon cosmic shifts.
some things will never be in our nature.
18.09.2019
this poem was very kindly included in issue 05 of honey and lime ('weave wishes into spiderwebs')
https://honeyandlimelit.wixsite.com/website/issue-five
