The subtle quirk of odd socks,
Not quite eccentric enough,
For others to mock,
But more a soft reminder,
In the repeated fields of sheep,
That you are your own,
And you are unique.

Your eyes are lit up sliver,
With the cool glow of tinfoil stars,
Entranced I dream to grab your hand,
And fly to our rusty button mars,
Through skies jeweled with bottle caps, paper scraps,
And all things unknowingly sentimental

Tonight will be ours,
As we whizz through the junkyard sky,
Our hands laced together,
This galaxy is for just you and I

Stars spill across the skies,
And my eyes are a magnet to their beauty,
Ever entranced by their snowy glow,
Wondering softly how far their shine goes