grabbed the moon

so last night i grabbed the moon.

we've somehow managed to lock ourselves in ever room of the house with a doorknob and coexist in the exact same spaces.
i guess we've done what my seventh grade science teacher said was impossible.

today i pressed my back against a beach chair and wrote you a letter you will never read.
at least until i die - or you do - and i have to read it at your funeral.

i pressed my back against the seat and remembered your back pressed against the marble-top island in your kitchen that time we thought we'd create sex stories with our clothes on - and your blinds open.

i opened your letter with: "big head"
in case you find my book and decide to be nosy.

you are not on this island with me.
damn you and your shit to do.
one day i want to nikki giovanni you.
kidnap you like the poets do.

we can eat fish from sticks on islands with names that are hard to pronounce while watching the water roll across your ashy feet.
(i just laughed out loud for real)

i pressed my back against the chair questioning whether or not we'd be able to lock ourselves outside.
build an imaginary box around us, wondering if the the beach-goers are watching.
they will be.

i always seem to capture the sunsets when i miss you.
this time, i captured the moon too.
and grabbed it - hoping customs allows me to bring it to you.