By Anonymous
Art by Sophie Williams
the way the cloud looked in the sky
floating like a gentle hand with fingers extending
to rub the back of my neck
the way your eyes met mine
a perfectly matched exhale
it reminded me of the crows that flew by my window,
a spiraling staircase of wings meeting the ground —
softly,
like a gentle kiss
or quietly
like the hum of pretty street lights I listen to before I sleep.
trivial as though they are,
I hope they know I think they are wonderful
and that they can trust that the glow in my eyes
will not fade when the day comes
and will still be there to greet them
the moment the sun taps my shoulder
birds land so elegantly
gently
a crow in the field reminds me of the cloud I saw that day,
the one that resembled a gentle hand
the fingers I’m envisioning are the only ones I’ve held long enough
to know what floating feels like
and it’s awfully strange
how floating and sinking
have the same type of wings
I wonder if birds know the distinction,
or if they want to be taken by the wind
as I do by your touch
as I do by the soft ridges of your warm hand
the man I saw stroking my neck,
he had fingers that resembled serrated feathers —
a pair of lips that taught me to acclimate to poison,
eyes that told me my wings were beautiful
when they looked the most free
the cloud was so far away
but the distance made me feel closer to you,
like the wind was wrapped around us both —
tightly as your set of arms
the night you showed me the way love bled
it went like this
like the legs wrapped around you never let go of your chest
like the sheathed presents I gave and gave to you
never went unwrapped
like you never made my eyes flood with wood
splinters
as a roaring river would in its rage,
when told a drought would make her bare
and dull any semblance of grief
to make those narrow streams run dry
no, it would never stop flowing
knowing all the love I gave
would never be held tenderly
like the gift it was supposed to be
that my wrapping paper never prompted you enough
to unravel me
like I didn’t belong to something distant,
and I wouldn’t be carried away by the wind
that you claimed would always keep us together
the soft light illuminated the edges
it was soft, but intense
like the rims of your eyes when you held me
like the flinch in your cheek when you told me
that broken birds don’t fly
gentle but distant, I am only at your edges in thought
but the way your arms wrap me up
sweetly
softly
gently like the clouds I see
they are dispersing and I don’t know which one is you
and sometimes I ask for rain
so a plethora of clouds can hover above me
and I can pretend that other faces in the sky
could swallow me tenderly as you do
you tell me stars are beautiful,
that you can see the reflection in my eyes when you’re above me
hovering like that cloud I’m trying to find
you like to hide from the lights you see in my edges
I am a dusty attic that lets too much light in
I am more than your eyes can bear in my eternal semi-darkness
when you’re pretending to sleep
I never thought that something so pure
so selfless
as starlight
could burn your fingers
the birds that flew by us whispered that love doesn’t entail flight
but as I watch the clouds gather, I see more and more faces
and the crowd consumes me
so unlike the way you swept me away
you are the sea and the clouds all wrapped in one
your turbulence rocks me back and forth
and I mistake these waves for a deep love
they roll inside me with a gentle force
and when they crash I can feel them washing me
cleansing me
healing me
I know your ocean will never be deep enough to hold all of me
your arms limp branches that sway in the wind
you say my breeze is one you cannot handle
that a dandelion kiss would knock you to the ground,
as the wind would to a broken bird like me
there I would lay, patient
breathing
breathing for you
breathing for both of us
until our breaths are one
and my eyes remind you of something deep,
like an ocean
you’ve always been scared to go beneath
you say it's suffocating to be in love
but you keep me in your waters
close to the edge, by the shore
you could rescue me if you wanted
but you tend to keep me where the waves are breaking
I’ve learned to like breaking as the waves do,
and after a while, this back and forth dance feels like you’re rocking me
gently,
as if you love me
hesitant —
as if you’re afraid
but you twirl me about anyway,
your limp branches coiling my calloused fingers
and each time I come up for a breath
you’re there to meet me
the deepness of your eyes brings me further into your depths
so I’m no longer in the shallows
and the water turns red, just like the way you taught me
how love is supposed to bleed
this is what it feels like to drown sweetly
now I’m looking up to the sun that hovers above your surface
the way the ripples distort its shine reminds me of something broken,
but beautiful
and I think of your love
and a body that was deep inside me, too
perhaps I hold you in an ocean of my own
but I’ll never know the depths you sink to
and you can’t be too far below the surface
for I would never let you drown
my water, it would be blue just for you
I would hold you above the surface with hands you say scathe you
you twist starlight into something tangible,
or sickly
like red water that tries to seep into my sea
my love is warm but your water scathes my skin
with anything but the softness of stars
whose light you claim incites fire
the water you gave me
I’m learning to let it run over me
through me
like those pretty colors you showed me
that came in all sorts of shapes and sizes
you say you will only find in someone else
and my heart burns from the furnace you wept into
but I’m told that love can do that
and with greater depth there is more complexity
confusion
and sometimes you might need to
hold your breath before you surface,
to breathe as a lover would
you should feel the water filling up your nose,
so deeply it becomes you
and now I am your ocean
but I am still such a small part
I watch the fish around me and realize that they are in deep, too
and you say I’m special
but I begin to wonder
what separates me from all of these other fish
these beautiful things
that have colors and shapes of all sorts
that you will never see in me
I tell you my ocean is deep enough to hold you
but you will never go beyond my surface
you tell me the turbulence of my waves is too intense
and yet i’m the one who is scraped by the sand
so I lessen my force for you
I can no longer dance when my waves are not rolling
I become a fragile lake,
a body of water that could never hurt you —
but has the capacity to eat away at a person
who lessens their depth for someone else
I suppose I would like to be a cloud
like the one I saw that reminded me of you
its edges are soft but its body is powerful,
like a crow determined to fly
even when its feathers are plucked off
it all just makes me wonder
whether drifting away as a cloud,
or taking flight as a crow would
from a love that could hurt me
is a better way to love
than drowning sweetly
in the depths of an ocean
I am sure to get lost in