Wildflower
Funny how the ocean sounds different in someone else’s ears. Sometimes I wonder if the waves spoke the same words to you, as they did to me. Today I’m laying on my back, my spine kissing the purple flowers that sleep below the willow trees, and I’m still wondering why the clouds above me seem so small compared to what I feel inside my chest. The winds breath curled around me, spelling out its name in warm ink across my wrists. There’s wildflowers growing across my ribcage, and singing softly into my glass ears. As high as they sing my ears cannot shatter, for they are the children of the earth, loving you and I. I am reminded of you by the smell of hotel sheets, their vintage skin wrapping around my bones, pulling me into a deep sleep, forcing me to shut my eyes. Your voice sounded like rain, the last time I heard it. I wonder if that’s the reason I think of you every time it pours. Darling it’s been one whole year since I’ve touched your delicate skin. But somehow I can still feel it set against mine, as if you were still standing right next to me. It’s been hard for me, so damn hard for my thoughts to carry on, hiding your shadow beneath their clouded eyelids. Your hands are made of copper, and mine of the sea, but the humans on the outside, they do not see that our souls are the same shade of violet. They can not feel how my hands shake with desperation, from living so far from yours. All they know is that yours are thunder, and mine are rain. They do not know that you are a wildflower, as am i, or that we created memories across the winds fixed tongue, and carved storys into each others golden skin. They do not know, these humans on the outside. They will never know. And so we will float on, as lonely shadows do. Until our souls meet again across the sunset, at the edge of the earth.
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