I don’t think of you every day,
Only when the moon is blue,
As it was the other night.
You arrived bathed in its hue.
I filled with want,
Wanting you, to fill the same.
Which you were – at least in this telling.
For the space between us crackled,
As it often seemed to do,
Fertile ground for lightning,
Begging for a strike.
I reached for your cheek,
My hand a shy bolt,
But never arrived.
Instead I woke
Wet and warm, breathing heavy.
I turned to the pillow beside me,
My heart echoing in the space
Above it.
Is it love if I don’t think of you daily?
Are you simply a crush that I cannot shake?
One that’ll rust and crumble,
As soon as I take a bite?
Or would we burn brightly,
Or burn eachother,
Or burn out?
Maybe some romances,
Are better unlived,
Save for in dream and dalliance.
I reached for you once,
On a cliff
Overlooking a midnight sea.
Both of us wide awake,
Although a little drunk.
You leaned,
But not in the direction I’d hoped.
“I don’t want to lose you,
As a friend”
You’d said.
Well, I don’t know,
If I can have you,
As a friend.
Do friends visit each other,
Wrapped in blue,
Leaving the other,
Wet and warm,
Alone and breathing heavy?
Sounds more like,
A lover’s trespass,
To me.
