my lunita, the silent one.

a flutter.
a stone.
a hollow bullet
into this hummingbird heart.

How graceful you were
in breaking me.
How beautiful your silence.
How kind your goodbyes.

My favorite uncertainty.
My gravest adventure.

a flutter.
a stone.
a hollow bullet.
and we could have never really known

how terrible the water
how reckless the wind
stuck between the crevices
of hearts so uneasy, so eager
to start

My most elegant collapse.
My greatest attempt, my best.

I let you inside of me
before I could hold your ankles
or trace the clouds of your breath.

I called you home
before I could let you love me
or shake inside my secret.

I loved you
before you knew the shape of my palms
or the birdsongs lost in my throat.

I was reckless, a silly broken fool.
A shy balloon, swelling
with every glance, every touch, every thought
of you.

Gliding
ever so uneasy, gliding
Waiting
to burst, to break, to fall.

Such has been my experience in flying.

And you.
My moon, my silent love
only lover,
only, maybe
took hold

And I.
breathtaken and lonely
not belonging to the air
as much as the ocean
dove
as was natural.

Shame on me for not asking
whether or not you could swim.

a flutter.
a sinking stone.

I loved you whole and unknown.
So used to swallowing glass
I couldn't see
the subtle cuts
the missed pass
where hearts slipped from sleeves
and shattered silently.

a flutter.
a stone.
a hollow bullet case.
hidden by the shadows of the moon.

How soothing your lullabies.
How wary your heart.

You drifted
before you could hold the rise of my breath
or taste the curve of my shoulder.

You succumbed to the unknown
before you could fall asleep in the rise of my thighs
or unfold beneath the curtain of my lambent laugh.

You bit the bullet, drank from the black hole.
before you could connect the constellations covering my nose
or name the color of my eyes.

And I.
So brave in my breaking, so impartial to your broken parts.

My somber longing.
My bashful heart.

Lost in the sink of your dimples,
hungry in the pearls of your smile.

How complacent your cradle.
How meager your liking.

I loved you
before the ambiguity
before the quake
before the quiver of our fault
so subtle, so sincere.

My most favorite uncertainty.
My gravest adventure.

a flutter.
a stone.
a hollow bullet.

How reckless we were,
strangers
fickle and flighty by nature,
but how beautiful our fault.