otherworldly

i hold a galaxy in my hands
it overflows
and spills stars like tears
between my shaking fingers
i squeeze too tight
it runs down my arms
soon nothing is left
but my empty palms

delicate

i know you like to take shallow soapy baths
filled with whole flowers you picked from the garden
petals spread out like fireworks and stick to your silk skin
you like it when i sit on the tiled floor next to you
sometimes you sing quiet love songs to me
my clothes get wet when you reach a thin arm over the tub
to smooth over my cheek and smile
our bathroom is pure white
but the afternoon sun washes everything in pale yellow
it feels like home
your hair only damp at the bottom
curl so beautifully around your soft eyes
pink lips like a bow curve at me
and you glow

my dear flora

your lips are roses
but only the thorns
and when i tried to kiss you
my flesh was ripped away

though i lay bleeding
i grabbed your wrist still

i would place my mouth on yours
despite my fresh blood
a million times more
so that once i may feel
the soft petals of your love

I once drank wine that tasted of you

dressed up like a hideous doll
a pristine black suit so crisp and new i thought it might snap my sternum
i am to sit still in the chair
the table moves and shakes
there must be laughter but what i hear is simply the beating of a dozen hearts
my only connection is a scattering of confetti through a wine glass
i do not speak
my joints are stiff as my starched shirt
what food lies beneath my gaze
on such a pretty plate trimmed in gold
makes me sick
i yearn for acknowledgement
only to be looked upon as if
i was part of the table's grand centerpiece
the whites and soft pinks of flowers
could just as easily be pierced through my skin
to mix with my tired blood
and create an array of colours so dazzling
as to compliment the crystal chandeliers
i do my duty as second to centerpiece
and my hands so neatly in my lap
though fingernails mark my palms

tell me who we are

We are the same.
Two reflections together abandoned.
Always striving to perfectly mimic the already perfect.
Until the person standing in front had noticed their other self in the mirror no longer moved as they did.
Instead us reflections dance disjointedly and try to consume what is in front of us.
Like the black liquid sea tries so hard to absorb the stars and become them.
A pretty picture so easily shattered by ripples created from a mere insect landing on its surface.
Just as we had been broken, when the perfection we wanted so badly to copy had turned so slightly to face us and seen our hungry jaws and extended arms.
Reaching for their skin, hair, eyes, and also what lay beneath the body.
The soul, perhaps.
And with their flawless fingers they pushed the mirrors we thrive inside.
Pushed them to the dirt and watched us both crack and then lay limp.
The last thing our desperate eyes had seen,
were those two broad backs turn away and walk, able to pull from our starved grasp as we both
ceased to move.
I looked to you, but your tears had already fallen down porcelain cheeks.
My throat was too paper thin to call out your sweet name.
I wanted to stretch my hand out to you but I was already long gone.