To remember, I wore blue
and only blue. I named
the third equinox Sapphire:
September’s birth(stone).
This for the burgeoning sky
and its every downfall. This
for another almost beginning.
I phoned the sea each
Thursday, foamed a cyan
conversation beside the waves,
waved back to the convenience
store glowing neon blue two
minutes after dusk had passed.
Blue always tasted of, well,
blueberries, but only from a
distance (the meaningful/less
miles between each moment).
Thankfully, there were only
kilometres between our mouths.
I kissed you a malady:
sickly sour, overripe sweet,
and long out of season.
Rain is only rain until it
is a need. Cornflowers grow
until we husk them, until we
pull them, vivid and laughing,
from the soil. I uprooted
the sky for a second chance.
Laughing, it stole my baby