in our garden, i am growing
a new universe: one fresh
and clean and golden-sweet;
a world of milk over water
and honey over blood.

it’s not that i am unhappy
here with you! it was never that.
i’m just sick of these old stars,
and this ill-fit skin. so today
i am watching the bluebells bloom
and the ivy unfurl—cutting my hair short
and dreaming of a hundred new eyes,
skin that smells of summer.

this evening i cannot see the sky,
i cannot feel your gentle hands,
i cannot believe all your ghost stories
of a better world, a kinder world:
the impossibility of tomorrow
where everything is fine.

but all the same i will thank you.
i will tell you i love you, and
together then we will go to bed
and as you sleep i will watch
matter begin to seep and spill
through every ceiling crack,
and the sun start to rise,
firework-red,
over a sea of stars.

i am growing a new universe.