you know, I have always wished for that kind of love
that fed the heart,
the one that I thought I had such a grasp on,
that faced people at face value in such a
eye-rolling, sea level way.
that could reach the stars and constellations and planets
at arms' length.
that opened my eyes and arms and mouth like a crash
bound to happen, leaving me open and scattered  in
public view.
the kind where I say, "baby, let's have a screaming
match 'cause we don't do that much and it will lead
to us touching and using words like 'baby...'"

The kind of love where when I find you and you find me
our two universes will collide so that the earth will see
the illuminated fires above.
I want to see your heart flutter against my eyelids to
easily say I'm not blind anymore.

I want to feel my body take flight, kind of like
dandelion seeds spinning, dizzying,
plummeting to the ground.
I could supply your lungs with oxygen
if my guard is down,
I will swallow air to inflate your cherry red balloons
til they pop,
because life, isn't simple like that.
we never take notice of how our bodies love the taste of
atmosphere.
I guess we crave it like nicotine and coffee filled to the brim,
but it's nothing like the big love theories and whale tales
in the depths of the ink night.

I always wanted to talk to god through the white holes
in that night sky, to ask him about the finances of this
sort of thing;
will I be in debt with loose threads and dead ends?
whether it has messy dynamics, I still wish for it.

and so I begin folding and creasing the small part
of one thousand cranes, but that's when I realized,
it was only a
myth.
with that, I ignite the paper ornaments to crumble
into our little universes gathering to the seams
and stitches at the wrists covered in hopes to
guide our emotions through the ridges of our hands.

so I put those cremations of wishes in my piggy bank
for a rainy night, where god isn't available to answer
my questions
until the next morning.