To Make an Ashtray of the Moon

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I wish I had the talent to paint you all the skies we never got to lay under

but there are too many skies we missed

and are missing

 

it was broad daylight when you kissed me first

not sure what I was expecting when you touched me

your hand didn’t feel like silk

or satin

or sable

 

but skin.

and that was the moment I knew it was something real

and real was so refreshing

 

like the air on the night you picked me up and drove me to look at the stars reflected in the lake

 

I stretched up my arms to grab them

but you caught my hands before I could reach

pulled me to you and taught me new ways to touch the sky

 

we were young gods that night

the air was so bitter but the menthols were so fresh

 

we watched as the magic from our fingers funneled through the filters and released itself in the glory of a manmade scarlet starlight.

 

and I asked to use your lighter because it worked against the wind

but I really just wanted to feel your hand when you gave it to me

 

warm, as always.

warm, real, skin.

 

But your hands are not flint

 

Your blood is not butane

 

And when I run my thumb up and down yours

 

Sparks don’t fly up to your eyes anymore

 

Like the way they did when I would smile at you from the passenger side

 

I wonder if those memories make you feel something anymore

I wonder if you raise your arms to the sky and weep when there are no stars left to grab

not because they left

but because you chain smoked them before you knew they’d burn out

 

the days of love being defined by the incidental shapes made by the cigarette smoke

have been silhouetted by sterling silver

cold.

beautiful and so damn cold

 

i should have known the night would  be day again soon enough

the sunlight is so unforgiving

and the sky is not a series

it is one absolute

 

there is only one sky.

there is only one you.

 

and i will never have the talent to illuminate you with all of those colors.

-P.J.

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