March 6th, I felt like she could stop the world, or just push us off it.
March 6th, I felt like I could stroke the water and still not swim.
She feels like human evaporation-I vanish into the steam that’ll steal my breath.
March 7th, I fall into her, always broken, every night.
I know that she lost all of herself in an effort to make me.
March 7th, why do stars come loose from the sky when you touch it with your fingertips?
March 8th, your cheekbones are holiness and divinity,
Your doughy chin soft as flour,
Your hand hide like a child, somewhere in my head.
March 8th, my life was a constellation we sent into pieces, a chaos of loyal desire.
March 9th, and I’m hit.