buggy fireworks floating on wind’s twilight odes.
Clouds pulsate in evening’s indigo bosom,
undulating waves to crown the trees.
You and I, falling.
The moon shrieks bright from behind a cloud
setting fire to my milky skin.
Cold fire. A hand-me-down from stars
blazing trillions of light-years away.
Next to me, you sink further into blackness
a rolling darkness,
you, creature made of night’s pitch
sunless eternities coloring your inky skin.
The moon fades.
Clouds extinguish its fire. My skin is burnt-out charcoal.
You and I are twins again,
lost blacknesses between fireflies and starlight.
You and I, my shadow.