I am the night sky. Stars burn themselves into my skin; the moon is a fickle mouth upon my chest. Opening, closing. Smiling, frowning. I am black and white.
But you are the day time, and you are constantly covered in color, color, color. Radiant reds, pastel pinks, violent violets. Brilliant oranges and soft yellows, subtle shifts from hue to hue to hue. And blues, so many blues. Blues like a robin egg’s shell, like the eyes of a child, like a polished sapphire.
You are my beginning and my end.
You welcome me with fuchsia kisses; you send me off with a crimson caress.
You deserve the dew, the breeze, the morning sun.
Those holy mornings where we would walk barefoot on the damp grass are my most cherished memories. Cool skin and cooler air, the dawn light reflecting off the droplets and making the water look like gemstones. They would cling to each blade of grass before falling like tears, evaporating into the air, or being squished beneath our toes. You would smile beneath a rose-gold sky and your eyes would glow so warmly.
You deserve countless sunrises like that. I wish I could them to you.
If I could pluck the mornings from others and bring them home to you, I would. Not all of them, of course; I would never steal all the daybreaks from one unfortunate person. I know you would never want me to be so cruel.
No, I would just take one – a single morning from everyone in the world (they wouldn’t miss just one, surely?). I would take them as gently as I could, swath their sunrise thoughts in my arms and carry them to you so tenderly. Then you would have a morning from everywhere, from north to south, from east to west.
You deserve them all.
I wish I could give them to you.
Don’t lie, it’s all right
There’s no need for truth tonight
I just want to keep painting this fragile fantasy
Don’t try, it’s all right
There’s no need for us to fight
I just want to float around in this snow globe fantasy
I’d break skies for you
Grab the heavens with my fingers, rip them open, tear the clouds
Bleed sunsets into your pretty head
Make you hear navy, taste violet, know red
I understand now
There was nothing in his kiss,
Nothing in the press of his lips to my cheek.
Nothing in his words.
In his smile,
His gleaming eyes,
I looked up and thought,
He looked down and said,
You’re an oak-aged, liquid velvet.
So robust, aromatic,
You’re made to sip,
You linger on the tongue,
Supple, smoky, slightly sweet.
Your after-taste says:
Appreciate me for the masterpiece that I am.
Then, in the space between an exhale a lifetime –
Drink from me again.
You linger on the tongue…
Black and white lines under your agile hands
Your violent piano, your turbulent song
I pretend that when you shut your eyes
You play for no one
Climb with two legs, four, eight.
Conquer my still body with every appendage, scale me with your tongue.
And when you crawl across my soft, closed lips,
Know that this I kiss you so dearly.
And when you trail over my soft, closed lids,
Know that I see you so clearly.
I’m dancing in my mind for you.
I’m celebrating the descent.