Find Out For Yourself. [POETRY]

a startling tenderness / in the sky_

I'm a sky away.

My eyes are open, and I'm too warm. The sun is drenching my skin until I feel sticky like spilled honey, crystallising on your breakfast table, next to fresh bread and plums.

When, or where? In a dream, perhaps. On my tiptoes, face turned to the heavens, feeling like it's all too easy. My head swims.

And there. There. I see you singing, hazy and outlined with a glow from the dusk light, fleeting like a single second of the sunset. Your body is dripping pure gold, and you're crying your heart out as you sing. There's blood streaked on your fingers. (What did you do?)

You're a fable to me, surreal and brave, holding your own heart raw in your hands. You were fearfully made, created as an indulgently grim tale to scare children at night. You lie in the dark, like my nightmares as a child, shivery under the shadow of your own body.

But oh. Oh. I cherish you. Human, and very very real, sitting cross-legged and reading a book written about yourself. Such a fanciful characterisation. Something with a hundred eyes, needle teeth, broken bones, blinding—but look at you, domesticated. You've blunted yourself out of sheer force of will, sweetness and tearful dedication. You make me dinner and serve it with a daffodil in a glass. I feel loved.

I'm still grieving, crying at nothing, wild and hoarse from a youth I didn't ask for. And at those moments you're right here, so very close: a soft thing, curious and quilted. I need to scream. You'll let me scream. You'll let me do anything.

I'm a sky away. My eyes are shut, and the moonlight is cool. I let my feet touch the ground, I let my hands touch your skin, and you start to sing. Chordal, chorus, singular and multitudes, cracking like a sore throat, clear like a bell.

It's all too hard. It's all too easy. Maybe I can live with this.