icarus downtrodden

what it means to reach for something unobtainable; what it means to be unloved.

unworn december mornings
wrapped in silk and glistening - 
i live amongst a wasteland of discretion
into which moonlight
claws at the floodgates.
colour me the techno diva queen
all washed out in neon.

we three - that’s me,
and my sadness, and the same pair of hands
we both try to clasp in the dark -
find the sky pulsing immutable around us.
the only space into which all three of us
might cram ourselves, and still have room to breathe.
the grass burns. the sadness envies it.
the hands want to join it, and the me
that’s left wonders 
what good it does to burn.

your name tastes like mouthwash.
say it holy. say it blessed by spotlight,
blessed by electric lightbulb hanging halfway between
the broken window and the
sunbeam on the library floor.
say that you never meant to only fill the sky
with empty stars, say the gas-lamps you left burning
will spark and shut off soon. say 
“stars have no f*****g meaning anyway,
there’s nothing that needs to be said
when reaching from here to the sky.”