Day One #poemadayfeb: Light

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He and I are an ocean; saltwater
that seeps from our skin and into
each other’s pores as we rise and
fall, tides surrendering to the moon,
bodies surrendering to each other.
Afternoon light falls in straight lines
upon us; we are fluid motion, liquid,
the light refracts our souls and spills
a mosaic of colour around the room
and I am in awe of the beauty of us.
As the light wanes, he sleeps, and I
am drawn to the angles of his face.
He is autumn; cavorting leaves and
warm coffee and freshly turned soil.
He is the promise of rain and all new
things to come. He is hope, the kind
of hope which makes you hold your
breath, and in the space between his
heartbeats, I softly exhale: I love you,
I love you, I love you. And though I’ve
never been this lost, I unpack my bag
and make a home inside the warmth
of him. I am afraid to sleep, afraid to
compel the last of the light to leave.
Instead I trace words upon his skin:
I can’t be all you need me to be, but
I will try, I will try, I will try. His breath
is soft and even and I watch as dust
particles float, suspended in the air,
and my heart becomes a poem that
rages against the dying of the light,
burns anarchy against my tomorrow.
For though I am young I have already
learned this is what the light gives to
us: moments we can never get back.
The darkness always comes.
The darkness always comes.
The darkness always comes.

~ ©️Kathy Parker // Light ~

Day One #poemadayfeb: Light

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