Phonetics Poem

This poem does not actually have anything to do with phonetics, except that I wrote it during my phonetics and phonology class. I set myself the task of writing a poem during class, and I think I might make that a regular thing, at least when I don't have wordplay to be doing. This is not really a positive reflection on my classes...but that rant is for another time. I don't think this poem is great but I think it came out sort of cute, enough that I'm willing to post it. ^_^; I haven't come up with a title.

~~~

You’ve cut your finger.
Just one tiny, errant brush against the paper:
But irrevocable.
The reality of the pain sears through you,
palpably, freezing time in this instant and the instant just past.
I see your mind fly to that alternate universe,
in which we had straightened the papers like we should have,
and that tiny bright red trickle is still cycling back to your heart.
I see you losing everything else, wishing yourself there;
so quickly, I lift your hand in mine,
kiss away your blood,
and as it makes its way to my heart,
gather you in my arms,
and fly with you into the night sky.
We speed toward the stars, until we tumble, panting,
onto the crescent moon.
You’d forgotten, hadn’t you, that the moon is a giant pillow.
Don’t you remember the blankets we stashed here?
Let me wrap one around us, while you snuggle one of the fluffy sheep
waiting to be counted.

This is our universe, my darling.
The air here rings with every sound.
I hear one, two, three…forty-seven wails from fresh paper cuts float up.
But listen:
There’s a little girl,
in Hokkaido, on the beach, can you hear her?
Her brother is tickling her, and she laughs, and laughs, and laughs,
until she’s laughed all the air out, and lies, panting,

and her laughter spreads to fill the whole world,
covering us like another blanket.

Dream Interlude #2

The moon is so bright. And so tiny, distant, cold. Not like before, I reflect, not like the broad hazy moon that hung in the twilight sky. So small you could mistake it for a star -- or have I? Three bright stars shine in the black sky and I am no longer sure which is the moon. I pinch my fingers together in front of my eyes, squint through the diamond-shaped hole to squeeze away the glare.

Smaller and smaller, until suddenly, just a speck where I'd thought the moon was. I hold my breath, frozen. And then -- it falls. Trailing golden dust through the sky. I start to cry out to the others in wonder but I don't need to because the whole sky now shimmers with falling stars, like a fading firework. We step out from the shelter to feel them on our skin, tiny shivers of gold, rain of pure light; refreshing, magical.

Each of us is alone, our thoughts far away, remembering every detail of the caress of the falling stars to share with the one who should be there with us. A friend's boyfriend clings tight to me as we begin to dance, slowly, under the dark sky, and he professes to me his love for her.

But I am not lonely. Because the stars are beautiful, the world is beautiful, love is beautiful; and, compared to the stars, he is not so far away.

And because I will tell him, later, as he holds me, and he'll feel the touch of the stars through my skin, and see, somewhere deep in my eyes, the miracle of that moment when the stars began to fall.