Black goes with everything except pastels,
but I don’t want a classy sky.
I want pink, yellow, robin’s-egg starlight,
to match how soft it feels—

lying next to you, my head not
on the crook above your armpit yet,
but you not about to mind how sweaty
my hands are. Why are we so

happy together? This most vulnerable
of emotions, shared. Shells of our former
shadows, so amazed at our fortune that
we could just hatch.