Dawn Took The Day

to his chest

dawn took the day by her little finger and held her to his chest
and they burst into a million foreign colours which you wished you could paint your skin and eyes
the angels’ stained limp mouths which you pressed to your own with fervor were dulled by the dim lights in your bathroom and
the night
who wrenched the day free of her lover and held her, with constellations and others, in his arms
hands clasped over their eyes and drenched in shrouds of his sallow skin

you were alone in Sakarabru’s grip, bruised but unashamed
you peeled the blinding light from our eyes and felt us sink into the hot sand
you drowned us gently in catatonia

through the long hours of the night, night held us in his inflexible grip, a hand for each soul,
whatever it took to bring you a little closer to anything resembling life, which you could place your hands upon and breathe warmth from
you were like Fay in his palm where you trembled under the licking waves of quarantine
and your light lead the dawn back to his love but you couldn’t see shit