I want the stars to whisper to me without words all the things they've seen and heard and follow me everywhere I go.

Little gossiping flickers all buzzing about my head.

When the stars are with me every step I take I'm never alone.

And if I can't see them through the fiery haze of the daylight I know they are still there, only unseen, and I'll be able to whisper endless conversations with them without uttering a single word when night falls back down like the curtains on an unrehearsed play.

I would wait through the longest melodrama like the protagonist whose soliloquy was left backstage with his courage knowing the stars are waiting to discuss all that has happened while we couldn't converse.

As they go on and on about how delightful you were at tea that day I'm so caught up in watching you sleep soundly, tucked in a blanket of black night air, that their babbling all becomes twinkling white noise.

My feet carry me toward your sleeping state on their own accord; my hands scattering the whispering stars like the brooms of cleaning housewives. I stand over you in awe and your sleeping eyes drift open to mine.

My eyes witness a new night sky flowing from yours and the existence that once held so tightly to the solid ground it found in the every-day night sky has taken flight into a new galaxy