Eat the Sky

I think if I were to eat the sky I'd swallow the clouds first. Maybe then I wouldn't be weighed down by so much. I'd float, I'd be gentle.

I think if I were to eat the sky I would taste the stars second , both salty and sweet. They'd burst like pop rocks on my tongue and cover my lips and fingers with glitter and dust.

I think if I were to eat the sky I would take a bite out of the moon. I'd leave only the crescent behind. The rest would fill my cheeks and make my words calculated but kind.

I think if I were to eat the sky my final piece would be the sun. It would burn my throat and heat my stomach. It'd shine through my pores and lighten my eyes.

I think if I were to eat the sky I'd be more celestial and less terrestrial. But all I have is this Earth. Bitter and sweet.

I think, I wish, I want to eat, absorb and be that thing that hangs over us, that gives us day and night, that balanced our life.

But I think if I were to eat the sky I wouldn't be me anymore. What's left would be a distant cold, glowing body that would never touch the earth.

It is good that I cannot eat the sky. At least this way I'm grounded.