city of stars

Moon child star eyes finger constellations utterances like the milky way (well rehearsed post-courtship a good night and a reminder ) The morning hue glowing on your forehead imaginaries of a harvest body warmth like the horizon lips larger than life untouchable beauty like a billboard advertisement the distance is only part of the longing because you will never be mine and I can count the ways you're not as if there are ways you are To watch you from a distance a disciplined love a sustainable craft, or so it is said cup this current with your hands embrace the violence of noise pining contained rearranged energies diffused over a landscape as if she is not all that you can see

These thoughts awaken while she sleeps All the things I meant to tell her archived notions tentatively lost These days I behave as if I am delicate as if a stir could startle me keep my beliefs close like a religious fanatic afraid of a question Yet spring abounds mountains and lakes make promises of a lighter future one I can carry on an incline [I dreamt of a car on snowy cliffs that wouldn't stop I was driving but he was in control he always had the reigns there is power in apprehension the worrier is the protagonist while the others are accessories risks to be managed] I have kept the curtains shut to these emotions Relinquished custody to outsiders empathy but these familiar colours enter subdued contours on the wall persuasive in their subtlety true when the sunlight colludes with their reflection How to speak of heterogenous truths and maintain a sportsmanly demeanour? How to reveal yourself and not contradict your previous versions? How t...

Numbers smeared like the digital face of a sci-fi thriller I've never been so afraid (it's not so original) Barbed wire fire theatrics falling like a circus clown unimpressive a sacrificed limb for a muted laugh * It must be me because she says nothing's wrong and my friends have all the same scars so habit begets habit and pain wants company I told her that she asks questions I wish my therapist would ask me I meant that I want to be broken but I'm built like a chimney steam out, exhaling, like my body is an accessory * There are no right songs when I want to cup this little bird inside my hands but they offer nothing to such a beak meant for scraping and squawking uneven ground to soaring skies sinking mud to hearty bark clammy skin to infinite horizons So many rules to remember dos and don'ts and the humming and hawing of what our childhood means validate without succumbing to the crutch trust with a blindfold and radi...