PALM

 

Palm  

I cup the tender pulse of you, fragile as a sparrow

spilled from its cradle of twigs, trembling in the wind.

Your skin speaks a language I think I can translate,

and in its warmth, I find a quiet kind of grace.  

I’m shedding my caution like a snakeskin,

my edges blurring in the haze of too much wine.

The world tilts, and I’m dreaming of diving—

not into this creaking ship, but the sea beyond,

where the waves might carry me,

where something vast waits to be known.  

They’ll whisper fool if I falter,

but all I need is a single spark in a million shadows.

They’ll crown me genius if I rise,

weightless, racing the echo of my own heart.

I’ll dip my toes in the tide,

tease the deep until it claims me.  

I sway between bone-weary

and a restless fire that won’t let me sleep.

I’ve stitched my kingdom from scraps—

rubber and rust, decay and defiance.

I rule over this heap of rot,

learning to love its sharp, sour breath.  

There’s so much I don’t know,

but a small truth hums in my chest.

I’m gripping the edge, eyes on the horizon,

refusing the pull of the drop below.

I’ll leap, a reckless arc into jagged waters,

tear free what binds me,

and thrash until the sharks take notice.  

Let them devour me—I’ve got no time for surviving.

I carry the heat of your skin in my memory,

the promise of wide skies and solid ground.  

I hold the heaviest piece of myself now,

my body a storm, swaying with the ship’s wild pitch.

This is the truth I’m piecing together:

I need a shield, a spark, for the journey ahead.

A small voice whispers that falling is freedom,

that the plunge is a thrill—

until the ground rushes up, cold and unforgiving.  

They’ll call me mad if I crash,

but one chance in a million is enough to bet on.

They’ll call me radiant if I soar,

defying the weight of the world.

I’ll wade into the unknown,

let the current pull me under,