I leant on your hand once.
It was fleeting, like a light caught in my window – emprisoned and atomic
You leant on my wrist
like a lean, low tree that catches
the late night light.
Gleaming and startling, you awoke within me
all the kerosene-lit bridges I’ve burnt
and all the lighthouses I have crashed into
because they were broken.
I allowed you into my veins
into the small of my back
into the sleek slither slightly snaking its way across my face.
I wanted you to see the cracks
covering my galaxy.
I wanted you to hold me,
to stop my universe pouring out of me
and pooling beneath my feet
like a shadowy sinner.
I leant on your eyes once:
they showed me gardens filled with blooming buds of blood.
And I saw you, covered in my breath.