She used to know a boy who painted the world with his fingers.
He'd catch the sun between his thumb and index finger
And squeeze yellows and golds and warm angry reds to color the sky.
He dotted brightness on my tongue and showed me how to
Press lips to canvas in the shapes of clouds.
He used to talk to her, and his voice was made of secrets.
She'd listen, head half sideways, ear pointed to the sky,
And he would drop words with no meaning, flavoring her sound.
She used to know this boy who left her.
He hooked his fingers into the curve of the moon
And pulled himself away from the earth,
He never looked back, eyes full of the stars.
She looks up, and forgets how to kiss properly,
In the way that the kisses are like clouds and
She forgets how to make words mean something.
She forgets what the sky looks like, and she misses him.