inky skies and midnight divulgences

my moon. 

my lovely moon. 

i dreamed you called me shooting star, and thought you meant i glow across your black night. i dreamed you called me unearthly, and heard the word heaven. you told me you'd hold me, and i dreamt of your arms. 

i didn't realize you called me shooting star because the sparkle you saw on me would fizzle out. and unearthly meant different. dreams meant fantasy. and love meant nothing. 

and when you spoke of holding me, i didn't understand you meant with a cruel, unrelenting gravity. 

the sun gently tugged me away from earth, it wasn't exactly falling in love, and everything stopped being numb and took on a golden sheen. i barely splashed as i left the freezing current in ascent, and for a while i still felt the phantom current wrapped around my ankles. the current relinquished slowly, and my frozen eyelashes started dripping. and every other part of me appreciated the word "cozy" a little more.

i broke orbit long ago, i just didn't realize that a shooting star has to keep moving. and i know now the moon's austere and distant glint may never compare to breathing in bits of sun until every inch of you shines.

but the marble moon still gleams, and sometimes on my darkest nights i stare through the window panes, letting it's stone-cold love drift through my ribs like smoke.   

and i think that's okay, as long as i wake up searching for sun.