in the a.m.

The blanket beneath us is a comfort
from the scratchy, wet grass,
the illuminating light blinding
as we read about the other worlds,
about different heroes and villains
and read
and
read.

An unannounced simile and
you look for me
and I for you.
Yet all we see is drowning
in thin air,
as the miles between us
turn to despair.

Let me meet you at
the ends of my verses,
at the start of all curses,
where all the divides us
is a
full stop.

We can write metaphors
in millions
with all the skies
and
draw the rings of
your iris
in my blank eyes.

I hope when we cross over,
my shoulder hits your arm.
I hope that when we cross over,
you forget your pen
and I spill some ink
on the empty pages.
I hope when this is all over,
I can tell you that
you remind me of how,
I broke through my
cages.

And so for now:
when we look up,
at the same graveyard of stars,
lying on the grey hills.
Remember that I will be writing to you
every moment
in the a.m.