Sora

You, my sky.

My sky which contains silhouettes of auburn,

with the brightest blue.

Where are you, what face are you making?

Are your clouds grey?

Are you weeping; is it rain?

I ponder that you might be angry, hurt- is it hail?

Is your temper tantrum creating a show of yellow, blue, and white?

I can't hold, nor touch you, my sky - for you are to vast.

Am I to compare? To the sky, that is.

To you.

What am I in comparison to your ocean of cerulean, or your panache of sunset?

Am I perhaps the birds - no, because I can't fly and embrace you.

Perhaps I could be the clouds? Maybe I am engulfed in your beauty,

yet I cannot sense it? So close yet so far, even?

Maybe I'm the universe; I could be described as vexing, confusing; you cannot read me, understand me.

But no, I am not the birds, clouds, or even universe. I am but land, strapped to the shores; I still cannot, and will not touch you.

A forbidden act of lust and dominance; we're greedy, or rather, I'm greedy.

The sky and the land break through the horizon and touch - a grapple of hands, or maybe we'll interlock our fingers at best even if for a moment.

For only one second I'd be the one to drop to my knees and reach up to you, the sky, a desperate man thrusting my hands out to grab a fool; both of us are now fools.

Land and sky will not break through the horizon, nor will they interlock their fingers, or grapple eachother's hands. A forbidden act of lust and dominance will not take place.

However when the sun comes out, I know you will tug me from the darkness;

yes, that will be our one second.

Because I am land, and you,

Sora.