portraiture of you by the lighthouse.

your skin drinks the pale moonlight;
your lambent lips beckons to the sea
whose waves falls apart on our feet,
begging for mercy. i move to comb
my fingers through your silken hair,
jet-black like the night sky, before
stopping myself in a moment of
hesitation. i wonder how many times
your mother massaged your scalp and
hair with coconut oil – was it a point
of contention for you, or was it moments
where you can revert back to childhood,
devoid of worries, a time where the world
was pulled still? cinnamon in your eyes:
it was my turn to drink that in. your eyes
shifted gravity, drawing those who gaze into
them closer. holding eye contact for longer
than a second is a type of intimacy that i was
never comfortable with, but you were the sadist,
tearing me apart with your gaze and i, a masochist
enjoying in secret. the lighthouse’s beacon catches
you in full bloom; the freckles scattered across your
face is my favourite constellation. i could kiss you
right now, and taste infinity, i'm certain of it.
the winds are lithe in your company, you shape
it into poetry with steady fingers. it’s moments like
this i wholly escape the burden of existence; you
carry enough life in you for two bodies, but it would
be selfish of me to ask you of that. instead, i watch you
with dissipated breath, wishing for the tides to swallow
me whole or for the salted winds to ebb me to nothing.
like many matters in my life, i settle for the next best thing.
you pull me closer and we collapse into a heap. tonight is
devoid of warmth, but you radiate enough for the both of us,
you’re giving like that. you give wholly, i wonder if you know
how self-destructive that is? i reignite the watchfire we made
earlier and did not tend to, it roars and my heart crackles.
you stare at the horizon, wondering how many ships failed to
make it there, and i stare at you, wondering if you know
that you’re the shore i swim back to, when i get
tired of trying to cross the horizon. the darkling
sky splinters, leaving the milky way naked. distant,
ambient – everything you aspired to be. you
surmised those who live an unfulfilling life
is destined to be a star, an apology in death.

“there’s a lot of stars” i said.
“tonight” you added.

you were always like that, bound to the transient,
focused on the now, the fleeting moments, it was
your way of conquering time. so you lived to the
fullest, painted yourself as transparent as one can,
fearing the future not for what it brings, but what
it takes. conscious of the panoply of memories
you leave with others, you do your best to do no
harm – and i? i fight the urge to bite the sun,
ripping hydrogen from it and swallow it,
holding all the words under immense weight
until it detonates, leveling those in the vicinity.
i redirect my gaze back to you, you’re asleep,
on the cusp of snoring. the type of sleep that’s
needed when your soul is exhausted. i anchor
myself and stroke your hair.