Every text I send you past 11 pm

By: Ruby Browning

Every text I send you past 11 pm

feels a bit like a caterpillar writing a love letter to a butterfly.

I am not the one who can live

above the trees, and I know you would hover over this branch

while I inch along till the moon melts

but the truth is

wings beat faster than the fists of our bullies.

I want you to know if they come chasing after us,

you should catapult yourself to space.

I cannot bubble wrap the corners of the universe’s coffee table

so I will beg you to not turn back

until you reach the atmosphere.

You will want to take me with you and I could climb

on your back but gravity doesn’t look kindly on those who ask for too much,

and I want your wings to make friends with stars.

God knows your eyes already have.

You have moonbeams in your blood, sweet butterfly,

all I can be is a speed bump for the pain that hunts us all.

When you get to the clouds, and turn back to pinpricks of us,

promise me you’ll imagine me as a butterfly,

with wings like the first snowflake that ever touched your tongue.

Promise me you won’t ever come back.