I wish I'd held onto
a piece of the sky, moonless
and powdered with sugary
stars, the east side dip-dyed
half a shade lighter
as if considering whether to introduce
the sun

I wish your arm left marks
where you held me, across
my shoulders and down to my waist,
that our hands could be like
butterfly wings, dusting color
over our fingertips, every time they
touched

I wish I'd saved a bottle of
the open silence that surrounded us,
the pure cold and vast, dark
space that made us so
wide-eyed with wonder, the
comfort in our quiet
voices

And if your lips on my cheek were
lightning, this
is the thunder, and I write each sacred
moment because I don't think I
can bear to see my memory
wash away in the
rain