My First Friend

Like the fluttering inside an egg,
you threaten to crack, spill across
my fingertips like memories stitched
from petals of melting glass.
How is it you are not afraid, when
my skin is awash with nightmares?
You tell me you have no heart,
but your gaze breathes life into the
dim landscape beneath our feet.
I remember the soft texture of
your skin beneath my lips,
my first friend, my confidant,
my prisoner of childhood.
I promise to lay you gently
into your resting place this time,
covered in the lilting fabric of youth.