Goldenrose

If I could weave the memories of you in a giant blanket 

The night sky would appear 

Or maybe the streets of that one city in Central America 

The unspoken words caught in a language barrier

When you are old

Your skin will become like paper,

And your bones will be like the wooden ribs

Of a lantern

So that the world will see the light in your chest.

But I don't need to wait

I wish I was bigger.

I wish I had a little bit more muscle.

I wish there was more between my skin and my bones,

That my ribs wouldn’t show when I take off my shirt,

That I wasn’t made of tissue paper.
 

you're not

leaving yet. no,

i'll glue your limbs to the pavement,

lower your waving hand,

tell you

something to make your eyes crinkle

again.

again,

again,

again.

at the beginning of the end 

you went to shake my hand 

i followed it with an embrace 

for i could not face 

what i knew would come