I was hoping
I could ground.
Feel you
your loamy touch beneath my weightless feet.
I wish to lay down,
To dig deep
and lift my hands,
left with some of you.
You.

just you.

you.
some favorite
some low-laying being
who brings so much to everybody else.
All except me.

Me.

You, me.
You.
You are untouchable.
And I am.
I. am.
I am the sky
I cannot hold you, let alone touch you.
As if two lovers, forbidden to ever meet again.

Lovers.
Nevertheless, we bend, we break, we disobey.
How could the sky ever touch the ground?

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