i wanted your peach face
round and soft as a
moon in the field
there was nothing else but
black felt tip marker
to darken the night out
(oh you were peaches,
and soft melted reams
paper ripping at the seams!)
and you never really
saw the moon rise up
out of its climate shelter
near the fizz and pop
of silver becoming bronze
you just stared at me
you just thought it was
the day to get up with the wind
and pack your bags
even when you felt like
sleeping in,
and i held the trace of your hand
like a whisper,
in mine,
as the frame of your shrinking chest became
the vestage of
the breath-held early morning
even as the flowers
sprang up, like they always do
from the moist earth
to crinkle open their paper thin
dry petals on my skin
I still saw myself
englittered in a paper mâché moon
a peach face for the high noon
waiting for you.
Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry
Golden Star Poetry 