lying under a purple sky
that brown eyes should see as white,
if i said i wasn't thinking of you it would be a lie.

it is still hard to tie
my feet to the ground when i'd rather take flight –
when i'd rather fling myself awry

into your buttermilk hands. it is me reflected in your big eyes
but i cannot cast the iridescent light
you expect me to. i cannot bear to lie

against the planes of your chest, high
off your oxytocin. i can't keep stretching my toes to reach the height
of your heart. you've heard “i wish to die”

one too many times. you've tied “goodbye”
around your knees for twenty-six sunrises. twenty-six mornings when fire ignite
has wrapped its hand around your throat and made it impossible to try.

breathing a sigh
into the base of my chest, ribs burning bright,
lying under a purple sky.
if i said i wasn't thinking of you it would be a lie.