For every fickle-eyed fancy
mistaken for heartwork aborning,
for every twinborn sigh explored
among rainbow-winged silk-storms
[this is beauty unhinged,
a pocketwatch hymn,
maroon-imbued and aching]
there’s a me without you
cracking moon-marrowed dreams
between ink-rooted fingers,
mapping out forever
on a blanket of breezes
[a bourbon-bruised mirage
of soft cherry-chalk jot monologues]
stitched across intangible stars.
Because this is just as infinite
as we were meant to be,
[and I thought you knew this]
as there is only so much
magic left to spin
from these
water-weaved moonbeams,
connecting my limbs.
[Because even in my arms,
you were far beyond my reach.]
Maybe next time I won’t try
to pry kisses out from cobble.
[Maybe next time I’ll be careful
what I wish for.]
Honorable mention
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