Honeyed, Violet, Bloodied

Sleep

is only an attempt

to climb back into

the mirror of yesterday—

shattered, and dancing drunk across my memory.

A doorway to the hidden hallway,

where our souls are one

And my mind still clings

to the gentle violence

of your pillar of flesh

filling my ache—

with amber,

and embers,

and smoldering cedar.

Being in your body

is climbing into a life I once lived—

where the sky was always crystal,

and the sun shone brand new

on the fertile banks of my skin.

Where the moon was a pillow

for the heart of my heaviest dreams.

Being in your body

is remembering a song I once sang—

in the quiet hours of dusk,

as the broken pieces of my soul lifted and flew.

They found you—

fragments of you glimmering in the ether,

a magnetic tether pulling me through fields of stardust,

waves of cosmic fumes through time, to this moment—

Our mouths colliding.

Our skin remembering.

Our hearts— raw, honeyed, violet and bloodied,

yet perfectly rejoined, two shards of the same broken mirror,