stygian nights
and i peer into the sky,
contemplating the planets that sail
round and round on riverboats
in their titian skin.

and i bet their bone structures
have collapsed by now
as they breathe aside the sun,
but they know they need to spin
and spin because they are the only ones
left untouchable in this world.

and i'm glad there's something to look up to
because sometimes my fingertips reach
to grasp the orbs,
stretch to feel some sort of purity
adorning my dirtied soul.
and sometimes i lift my face skyward
to let my eyes drink
the same silver water
the planets glide across.

i dream that i can feel the stars
settling on the corners of my eyes
and i dream that ebony night quietly explodes
between my bones
until when i awaken beneath the streetlights.
i swear i can feel the night slip like liquid sand
through my fingertips.

and god, i need you. i need you.
because only when the moon
enlightens my palms can i see the
maps pressed to my skin.

and without the stars draping light
across my cheeks,
a sleepy black curls around my ankles
and follows me to bed.

i guess i'm made of stark marrow
and naked ocean eyes,
pale in comparison to your lovely sinews.

but that's why i need you.

i need you to
break through my windowsill each sundown
and play my skin like an instrument.
spill sonatas through each corner of the world,
because with you alive
and with me breathing and laughing
i will feel whole.