with the phone pressed to my ear
and my hot breath on the
transmitter, i told you of my
consuming fears that cover
me like heavy blankets:

      smothering and comfortable
like a second skin i can never
shed because there is no
recognition or elasticity of
the first (even if i found
it i wouldn't be able to wear it;
it has been worn too many times before)

      with the comforter tucked
underneath my chin and my ear
on the receiver, i waited for you to
tell me of the terror we both share
except the reason:

      you are the origin of my
darkness and the stars in your
night sky have not burned
out yet, i don't know why you hide
them with ink splotches ; (mine are
shriveled and etched into the
palms of my hands; they
never fade away)

      with another call ended
and our thoughts encompassing our
tortured minds, i stare at my wall
counting all the
hours
minutes
feelings
people
wasted and the ideals
i never achieved, while you stare out
your window

      counting all of the innumerable
lights that you think are never
in your favor and you lay
saddened
tired
hopeful
expecting
waiting for a shooting star
to crash through your bedroom window
and
         plunge
                      into
                             your
heart.