.a confession, of sorts.

Raining, and you stood
Still as the cold: you were
Bright and simple as the face of the moon.
Your lurid eyelashes, sugarcane-colored hair
Were beaded with water and your face was pale.
And I, in layers almost enough to hide me,
Could only stare at you and think:
I will lose him.
You were unbroken snow, you were an unbroken sky,
And I wanted to reach out for you but my hand was still.
And over all the long months, I did not move.
Now, in my new home, I run my empty hands
Over the empty walls and reach for you, finally.
But you are a cloudless sky, and I cannot reach
High enough to touch you, and my fists fall back, holding nothing.