At
sixteen, I left a fruitless orchard
for a spiritual cloud closer to the
sun.
We were young then;
kissing under the stars,
flying down hills covered
in dandelions.
Hot pink petals falling softly
as we kissed in plaid steamy dimness
that belonged to us.
Stuffing friends in car trunks,
clothes flying off at yellow lights,
wet hair dusting almond sheets —
but collisions of
flight
forced
me
to fall
slowly —
like a frisbee trapped in
wind.
My heart is still the one that cracked in high school.
When did our souls forget
that we need the embrace
of another human to be okay?
That scars are permanent?
This poem was originally written in 2017.