Metaphor.

A Poem by Aikaterine

You told me to write about falling and the delicate way that your palms shake.

[Last night, I hung my feet from crumbling cliff edges, I kicked my left shoe to the surf and smiled as the black heel sank like a ships hull. I crumbled the ground beneath my fingertips, I told you how the earth trembled beneath my skin and threatened to throw me over the edge, just like that last breath of withering dreams before you crash to the floor.]

You told me to write about crashing and the turbulence or your pulse.

[This morning, I dropped my purse somewhere between rainfall and chasing you over rooftops. I told you that from here we could pretend that street lamps were supernovas, and if you could span the gap then you would tumble into those cosmic explosions. I could feel your heartbeat clatter over the granite beneath our feet.]

You told me to write about the last time you tumbled and you forgot how to breathe.

[Tomorrow, I'll lose my mind as we tumble from slanted roofs, roll from devastated cliff tops, and throw ourselves heart-first into each others outstretched palms. I'll tell you that this was all just a metaphor for falling in love, and now I think that I'm plummeting faster than you. Maybe you'll forget how it feels to inhale fresh air, because suffocating sounded sweeter.]