Blue Moon

you ask me if I am scared
with my ear pressed to your heartbeat past midnight
the pitch blackness wraps our eyelids shut, but
I can still hear the honey in your voice
and we tell each other secrets in the dark, like
what bruised you this year
and whose splinters are still in your thumbs

you say that you find your pulse slowing
that you aren't scared somehow
and for once, I say, me neither

it feels so good to be so held with my hands shaking,
to see stars in your eyes
even when mine start to tread water
you look at me sometimes like today is our first day
and our last day
like my face is a revelation

and we hush each other to sleep with the sound
of fingers sweeping across arms like moonlit tides
your breath bathing my hair and mine rolling down your skin
and I am nowhere else tonight

182.

what if I told you

that you are where my mind wanders, aimless and dusty

when I am folded empty-palmed and restless 

in the middle seat of an airplane, when my only option 

is to close my eyes and find myself, and you,

at the bar where we met

your eyes blue as ice and burning, me shifting my powdered knees, 

swallowing lumps and laughter and the beer you liked

and then I am sweating three days later

blushing at you across picnic tables and looking for excuses

to walk over wooden benches and get next to you somehow

or curled up for four hours in your front seat

uncomfortable as hell and happy, or tangling our teeth together

one week after that, or stretched out glowing

on my carpet two nights ago

what if I told you 

I am still listening to the song that sounds like your skin

letting it press down on my back and I am smiling

under the weight of this violet cloud we are creating,

full to bursting with rain and the scent of you

what if I told you I have been

collecting and quilting the bits of us that have blossomed so far

for moments like this, when I am motion-sick

with pinched eyes at high altitudes

waiting to come home again

to the ground, and to you