I search for you in my blackest
my drunken, misguided North Star.
Born of cunning and velvet
and the spaces between stars,
you were clothed by your maker in all the ways I yearned for you.
Were you a fever dream I restlessly brought forth
or were you sent to torment me
for all my wanton sins?
I’ve repented of each one a thousand times
if only to remove the scent of you from every layer of my skin.
Between pleas flung into the inky night,
are you come as my salvation or my ruin?
The depth of my longing for you
How do you kill so beautifully?
have you lit inside my veins, etching
my walls and stars with ruin?
I am become the ages
filled with echoes of unfulfilled
I watch you from afar,
drowning my desire
in the secret places
of my garden.
If I could choose to be a single
bloom in yours,
I’d choose not the heady
nor the proud, resplendent
I would choose to
be the shyly budding
for she does not compete
with any other
for the full weight
of the sun’s hopeless infatuation
You glance my way and
a wild stampede of heartbeats
escapes from within the cage
of my ribs. I cannot seem
to corral my thoughts, they ride
freely upon the rushing horde—
do I hold your gaze or look away?
You laugh at something your
companion says, flashing straight
white teeth like the picket fence
around the garden in my
memories, where we picked sugar
snap peas during lazy summer
afternoons. I catch my breath
and look away, attempt to calm
the trembling of my limbs.