You asked me once why I liked you.

Have you met yourself?

is all I could say

Out of nervousness of the moment

Out of nervousness of newness.

How then could I tell you

That you taste like nebula

That you have the Halo of the sun

In your hair.

That I feel the brokenness you carry

heavy in the center of your being.

Nucleus of a spinning Galaxy.

Taped together with songs I just don't think

Are sad enough.

Stitched into place with a burning thread of self destruction

Liquid flowing hot like blood

but unlike blood nothing stains my fingertips

Standing in your kitchen

with the salt and pepper clarity of

A man who knows what it means to dream

To dream and to want and to desire

Not for a particular absolute One.

But the culmination of all things.

The tip-toe desires of the common man

Blown out into a blood splatter kaleidescope

Of gears and grease and shoe soles eaten up

By miles of pavement and miles of living.

Miles of putting you apart from the past.

Yeah, how could I tell you that you taste like stars?

How could I tell you that I've tasted stars before?

How could I tell you how they burn?