i. the sun is tearing the night apart
   and you know and he knows
   that you'd rather cling onto the
   the stars in your palm, shyly
   twinkling like the words he is only
   brave enough to whisper when you
   are half awake

ii. no stars in his eyes,
    no galaxies in yours -
    this is only fireplace friendship
    to keep each other warm

iii. this is what you tell yourself
     every morning you wake
     up in his arms

iv. you won't ever lose those stars
     you clutch like diamonds and prayer beads
     or raindrops of crystal gold
     they burn your fingers sometimes
     so you treasure them in your shivering bones
     until they collapse in on your soul
     as if darkness has a weight -
     misery is the only color that can't escape,
     you fill your veins with stardust debris
     and white and white and white
     to compensate an emptiness that
     has no name until you watch
     yourself fall apart like dying embers
     of fires of the heart

v. did you forget?
    these ashes of you,
    all black too

vi. he tells you, no, he
     forces you to rid this habit
     of dropping black holes at your own feet
     he aches to see you asleep on the streets
     when there is always home right where
     he breathes
     but you like it better underneath
     the moon, the stars in your worn-out
     pockets are a little brighter in the dark,
     a little lighter to hold when your fingers
     forget to suffocate and tremble
     the way they have grown used to

vii. the stars are even brighter

viii. when he holds them

ix. with you

x. will it hurt so much if you
    drop one

    only for his
    hand?