the roof deck gets us close to the clouds.
we lie back and circle our big toes in the air;
i outline a star; you make half a heart.
i reach up higher, poking my toes deeper towards the sky,
but the clouds don’t break.
we learn words exist to scratch an itch
in the backs of our throats. sometimes i have to dig deeper;
but only silence.
you say you know, don’t worry about it. so we both mouth
the syllables together. i smile because you’re an echo
from somewhere deep within me.
vacuums are for outer space, or gathering the remnants
of yesterday’s argument. we exist in one;
sealed tightly, spoiling slowly.
i do best at night–i’m most honest in the dark.
your hand finds mine and undoes the last six years;
i’m perfectly still next to you and think about clouds.
we sit on the edge of fortune,
the ledge as thin as playing cards, inside a glass house
stones and opinions in clear view all around.
orchids thrive in low sunlight, little water.
we outgrow our humble pot.
listen here, i say.
the sun doesn’t rise with me. i was born
beneath the moon’s rays, so excuse my moods,
falling and rising with the tides.
we learn love can fill a room, a house;
it ascends, high and warm. we hold tight, eyes closed.