Constellation

I want magic for one moment.

I want to touch you with my cold, pale-skinned fingers with the gnawed up nails.

I want to communicate to you with magic what is in my eyes.

I want to reach out with a single solitary white-cream digit and touch your hand —

And then the moment.

Sparks, orange-fringed with red centers would skip across your skin,

Pulling each and every hair up on end, popping from the pores.

They’d turn blue fringed with green and white fringed with black.

They’d worm along your skin like miniscule lightning or creeping vines

With thorns to prick at your every inch and give you cool sweats.

They would run down your body, along your belly and across your thighs

And they would feel like soft hands brushing lightly.

They would feel like plush lips kissing gently.

They would feel like a sudden breeze on a sweltering day.

They would feel like a sweltering day.

They would be the breeze and the day and the lips and the hands altogether and separate in seconds.

They would tickle your toes then run all up fast and sudden past your lips

They would be sucked in by your breath and fill you with the cool fresh air

Like surfacing from a pool.

They would draw out your hair in all directions like a halo-crown,

And they would finally settle within your eyes and make constellations.

You could look into a mirror then and see them. 

You would grasp the things I imagine then. 

You would know what my heart can do.

It would not be a wish.  It would not be a dream.

You would see each thing in you, the lips the eyes the hair halo,

The skin, the toes, the legs, the breath….

You would see them altogether and separate in a second.

And you would know I love you.

And you would cry like I do in the night when I look at stars instead.

And when you’d cry, you’d cry diamonds.