Stitches

Underneath the burning sun
in a sky that was falling asleep,
our legs lay intertwined and tanned,
resting on the footprints
we pressed into the sand.

Your washed-out blue Honda
hummed softly, the keys still in the ignition--
and there was sand on the dashboard
where I had rested my feet as you drove along the highway.
(I can still remember the desert wind, smelling like jacaranda and
brushing my hair with furious caresses.)

We stitched ourselves together in the humid atmosphere,
and promised each other that
we'd escape from here.

Veil-thin and fragile,
our vows,
(stained with white naivete)
were called Love, Tenderness, and Forever.

Even so, I will never know
just how much one person can depend on another.

The skies opened their arms,
clouds parting and letting the Milky Way glimpse our twin bodies
half-buried in sand,
and we reached back with starfish hands and palm fronds
that hadn't yet dried in the summer heat.

Netting our fingers together before the sky,
a web of flesh and silver constellations,
I smiled at you,
drowning in the ocean we saw
reflected in the sky.

And looking back, I can see that
it wouldn't hurt as much
if you hadn't really loved me in the first place,

but you did.

And it wouldn't hurt as much
if we hadn't fit so well together,

(hadn't stitched ourselves together)

but we did.