if I could give you the moon

I would have to think about it. for a while, at least.
could I have the night to decide or. maybe after the long
weekend. my heart’s not the hold up. my heart’s not
holding up my heart. it’s just—you wouldn’t
give me the moon, is all. so I would have to think
about it. about our roles being reversed. how much
it would hurt, watching you offer that body and all
its dimples to someone else. oh, but would it make you
happy? having the moon all to yourself. knowing
it was a gift from me                        take it.

It happened overnight

A sudden susceptibility to wild lilacs. My constant compulsion
to trace the cobblestones we tripped over. Briefly, I think of
jumping into the ocean. Plunging into the sea just because
you were afraid of it. Afraid of the waves and pale, blue American
spirits smoldering too close to my fingertips. How could you deny it?
My neck—a sacred burial ground for your nose, sighs, and sobs.

Burdened, I’m still carrying every word you spoke to me. Lugging
them, your secrets and your favorites, from room to room. I can’t
put them down yet. Not until you claim them.