Rocket Boy

You let me ride on your tail,
our leg-hairs grazing each other:
The scorched take-off seared my skin
like the mound of nails
you used to hang my picture on your wall.

The crescents of your half-closed eyes
were moons I kissed,
signs I searched for in the dark.

You promised me I’d see the sea,
but before the tide could rise
like the home-baked bread
whose crumbs once rolled
down our lips,
you turned off the oven.

I fiddle with the oven’s knob;
the glass door’s cool against my palm,
like an ocean I can only dream of
on moonless nights,
when wolves forget to howl
and I find myself far from your shore.