Epitaph for My Heart
Your Face, pure and naïve, leans closer -
You're innocent
Just like the day you were born.
Yet your Lips - soft, not dry and cracked like my own - encroach onto my own.
You close the Gap between us (physically, I suppose ... Will the gap between us ever be closed?)
And I try to mimic your own motions; I can only hope I play the part
Well enough /for you/ ...
You, who is still - always - unaware:
I am guilty.
It's lying by omission,
Isn't it?
Your Hands are Warm;
Warm enough to make me feel like this is enough to keep the Cold away.
(In the end we both know it's not .)
[only I] know
You are gentle,
Gentle like I'll break and crack in your hands;
It's just customary. I am no Doll about to break,
About to crack under pressure;
But I am not rough Like the Pavement you scraped your knees on as a child
Or those Tights that scratched your skin at Church.
I'm like the Grass that sticks to your skin after you fell onto the field.
You don't pick me off yet;
But it's still a burden
Still sticks to your skin,
Pokes at it.
Your Skin is softer than My own; you take care
Of every small thing,
But I can't take care of one big thing.
Your Skin is softer against My own;
It's meant to be loving,
But all I can worry about is how Cold I[t] must feel against You[r own]
Your Arms are [should be] like a blanket
Draped over my shoulders ... An intimate action ...
(If you see it that way, then I can try to[o]).
It's meant to be comforting - perhaps it is for a moment -
Yet I wonder how long this'll last.
Your Face, pure and naïve, pulls away -
You're beautiful
Just like every other day.
I don't mourn the loss,
Not like You.
Ellana Ky '28 is a poet and artist. She loves writing in her free time - and Scarlett Johansson.