The sky was slit through its stomach, there were stars
flushing down in milky galaxies like blood and water
it was night time, people rarely look at the dark
but us, seeing this was such a marvel.
I held on to the shadow of your hand while the real one
rested on some other’s palm. I imagine the warmth
benignly radiating from it, the tickling of your fingers
but the truth is, your hands were cold
Sometimes a sigh is a scream sent to the deaf world
only the Divine can hear, like a loud whisper
we exchange conversations with our breaths,
the drumming of heartbeats like Morse code.
I quit counting scores a long time ago, when my fingers
tire in being clenched and unclenched, there was no purpose
in holding on to something as intangible as dust
so instead, I sang with the letters of my name.
The universe must have many alphabets, of sending signals
warning signs I might have missed beforehand
it speaks to me while it bleeds with the stars
and groans with the quarter moon.