Heavy and odd and cool
Just weighty enough to fly
If the palms cast sharply enough and the hearts believe hard enough
To fly through the air and through the glass
Of the window I believe is your bedroom’s
To fall at your feet in perplexing tribute and supplication

It was yellow, still is yellow
A warning of “slow down, slow down”
But who has time for that nowadays when it’s a constant feeling of arms behind the head
Of on tiptoe, always ready for that perfect follow-through
To come and to leave and to leave behind
A glow of adrenaline. You were I mean.

The edge of it is the thing
Metal and marked in eighths
Always holding that tension, always ready to snap back at a moment’s notice
(It reminds me of you)
(And, no, that was not a parting shot)
Keep your fingers back lest you show blood

Pick it up from the floor that is probably hardwood, knowing you
Dust off the broken glass (Careful, fingers)
And sleep with the weight of metal under your pillow so you can confront anything
Because this is the best I can give you
Some concrete knowledge, some comparison
A way to have the exact distance from your heart to mine stretched out between your palms