all the colors of the Moon
bluish, blackish, blue:
in the eyes of a heart
fractured and aching
with the turn of a strange machine.
rise on a pillar of sand
stardust sweeps by Your bruised face
Your lip, cut by the jagged edge of a local supernova.
“hi”
my rib cage closes in on itself.
it chokes my organs and squeezes my feeble voice
its the last bit of toothpaste. it doesn’t taste minty-fresh.
(its not an unfamiliar greeting,
its one ive used
to receive your caramelized features
many times before)
now
It feels so different
so wrong
and so miswritten
the meter is off, the pace is falling
the intonation sounds exactly like im drowning.
You respond with silence, that’s okay,
but Your lack of comment on the matter leaves my mind looping in a spool of sinew.
i love You?
thats the color of the Moon.
Caleb PJ Bauman
Caleb PJ Bauman likes to use his middle initials in place of his last name, not because he has anything against his last name, but mostly because he thinks it sounds cooler. It doesn't.
