As spectacularly as you waved
good-bye I saw your wings
evaporate into another world
of yellow cat eyes, sticks
and fruit flies. I peeled
off the layers you made
for me, thinking: "to the Devil
with you" but fondly remembered
the coarse hair of your spine.
All those beautiful lavender
nights, warm and heavy
as red spice, cooing
with gold speckled rays
from the green stars
that staircased the horizon
when we flew so high.
Even now, when I gaze
at the pink scratches
on my palms, there is an echo
in my head that swarms
like an ancient shanty
guiding sailors lost at midnight
on a faraway coast. We could
always believe what would happen
when it threatened not to. Touching
clouds never made for peace.
We should not have once
been so happy, as the pleasure
was all mind.