A warm, mint, Thursday of independence,
Where I grew to understand that her eyes are clouds, reflecting the piercing moon
And all the love I couldn’t carve out loud
But if my squinting eyes are to go blind tonight, please know,
I’d never trade this last moment of sight here with you.
And as this firework heart set off in my chest, we sat and listened to constellations fall in love with the sky
Our hands carried conversations in our blueprints, as we heard constellations fall in love with the sky.
I saw both God and smoke that night.
They shook hands with each other.
They boxed with the wind; they sang soft songs as I saw the needle come down on her throat.
And I saw music ring from her mouth like truth.
I’ve never lost my breath so quickly, so willingly.
And as her head and my chest just locked, we sat and listened to constellations fall in love with sky.
I choked the desire to tell her how much I loved her with my bare hands.
As we sat and listened to constellations fall in love with the sky,
I never heard either one of them mention their love as long distance.
I saw this with my two blind eyes,
and she with her clouds.