Sun-Kissed Kids

Sun-Kissed Kids
By H .E. Baker

if we spun round and round like wondrous caricature horses on carousels,
i'd cry.
the stars in your eyes would shoot up like fireworks and i'd stare at the curve of your upper lip,
your teeth. your hands. your ears.
who are you? who are you?
why must this carousel bring me nowhere if only to let me fall, fall, fall down into a fluorescent wave of neon colors. they crash and they light up and they kiss my face only to remind me of you.

if we decided to trek out into the dangerous mountaintops, we'd be the unusual mixture of scaly lizards and sun-kissed kids. "this is my scar from that rock." "i am king of the wild things."
i want your peace like an ocean, i want to feel your waves crash against my neck. i want, i want, i want.
who are you? who are you?
if this were a song, i'd want to let you know how much i tried to get this to rhyme, but wow, my mind wasn't made for this. emotions.

if we held each other for an infinite amount of time on a cliff only to overlook the water below us,
i'd let myself fall before you.
would you push me? would you push me?
would my skin peel off in the scorching wind rushing past my body as you stare at me and say, "oh, i'm sorry."?
you're ridiculous, you human being full of pain and beauty and destruction and loveliness.

if i saw you in my room (you're pale and alluring and intimate and free),
i'd say, "hello, old friend. be on your way."
reality is such a beautiful place to live in.