So every step hurts,
And leap—
Embrace the cold swells
Of the waves below;
Where does the urge end,
And where do I begin?
I talk about you
With a heavy heart,
In a paroxysm of nostalgia
Like you’re dead—
In some ways,
Perhaps you are
But some things
I must keep to me,
Like the red glint
Of your favourite knife
When the moonbeam
Slinks stealthily
To kiss it in the night,
Or how beautiful
You think the world looks
When it’s burning,
Or how you trace
The burnished dragon
Curling up your lighter
When the deed is done—
With love.
It lies in a drawer
I can’t bring myself to open.
If I dive so deep
That the blood rushes
To my frozen ears
And I can’t breathe,
The water surging through
My airways in a fury,
Drowning me in its hatred
My tears mingle
With the cerulean waters
And I find you in them,
Waiting, wilting.
This world wasn’t meant for you,
Any more
Than it was meant for me.
Maybe that’s why I see you
Only in the lapis abyss,
Where no one can find us—
But every time
I reach for you,
I perish in its shadows
Before we can touch;
You are their maker—
They will not have me
For you will not have me.
I wish I knew how to keep
The sight of the first snow
From a foreign window
In my mind’s eye forever.
I wish you knew
How to live
With a good thing
And not turn it
Into nothing.