/the sky that fell/.

to the sky 
that fell on the 
palm of my poems:

when I asked 
for your number,
what I really 
meant was;

//I saw you 
in reverie once//.

you took a human 
form to live on 
the line of my 
imaginations,

when I woke up,
I still couldn't
fasten up the urge
to introduce myself.

so I vanished, 
to a place where 
I still couldn't gather 
the courage behind the scourge
to say before galaxies, 
"you're beautiful." 

so I say,
"you remind me
of the wand flowers 
my Momma showed me yesterday,"

to which you said,
"_______________."

whatever happens next,
is a sign before the sky 
called celestial,

a signal for me to reignite the stars 
and confect your scars,
to our beautiful,

and I want to swallow 
every sad and bitter 
thing that has happened
to you before me,

and conquer the sound 
of your every instrument,
before you play my ribs 
like the strings of your 
favorite guitar.

everyday I want 
to hold you 
like you're the only thing 
my palms have ever touched.

I'm sorry Miss, me?
I just can't let you 
go anymore,

and to anybody that 
asks me if you're
my girlfriend,

"No, she's my language.
I speak her.
And, me? 
I'm her favorite page." 
© amtupu_