Stars

16.04
 
I want to draw in Summer’s room,
mix water paint the shade of your flesh,
spread scrawl across books,  
bound in cardboard  
the colour of a Spring sky.
 
I want to shape letters,  
each as skilled ballet legs
that glisser between lines,
to know where the day goes,
to chase the Sun,
to call out to the rebellious sea
and hear a heart-rhythm return.
 
I’d go to live in a rockpool  
for a day or a month,
avoid the plastic buckets
of idolising, thirsty boys,
excited above a hunter’s spade.
 
I’d climb some craggy cliff edge,
to consider diving off,
seek out a light, there,  
under a hognose moon,
learn everything about Ophiuchus.