I. Swallowing the Sky

The pills were bright blue --
azure --
and I said they looked like fragments of the sky.
They'd give me the sun back.
As I swallowed each pill
I thought of Van Gogh,
who would taste daubs of yellow paint,
thinking that would put happiness inside him.
Paint is toxic; So was fluoxetine. 
Colors lie.

II. Catching Constellations

I thought I had given up on the heavens
but then you put your arm around me,
showed me how
the stars illuminate the night just for you.
Every time we kissed --
one,
two,
three --
Orion smiled down on me.
Your eyes shone bright,
more beautiful than any constellation,
any pill,
any paint,
any sun.
Our entwined futures stretched
infinite
across the universe.
I didn't believe you could really leave me,
splitting our moiety along with my heart,
throwing me from orbit.