Let’s say
you are a goblin
and I am a goblin,
we are ugly and small
and we smile a small smile
at each other; our little mouths,
our dirty teeth.
In the mornings
we are as green
as the living leaves
gliding in the garden
of Eden. As green
as the caterpillars crawling
on pillars of trees.
We are yellow
under the mellow sun, walking
like tourists to the caves of men,
vandalizing their portraits
in stone. In their faces, I scratch
a mustache. On their bellies,
you dye a butterfly.
I am jealous of the birds
and their wings; how they fly
and stare as you stand atop the palm
trees, how the sky is only bright
behind you. How you become blue
beneath the sunset, how the horizon
pales in comparison. For once
the evening comes in its blanket
of black, we will sit like children,
sipping coconuts in their very shells
then wearing them as hats.
Then we’ll be brown beside the fire
like we are human once again
and not a husk.
Let’s say tonight,
I am human
as you are human
and we don’t need a fire.
We will smile a small smile
and you are warm as I am warm
between your arms.