May 2014
Most people when they wake up in the morning crave coffee or breakfast,
Something to help kick start their day in the right direction,
Except a cup of Joe or omelet doesn’t entice me enough to get out of bed.
I long for the scattered stars in the night sky,
But I don’t mean the twinkling lights painted onto the indigo tapestry we call “dusk,”
That drapes itself onto the setting sun
Just enough that we can still see our hands in front of our faces
And just enough that the street lights are guiding my steps.
I mean the ones sprinkling your cheeks and the bridge of your nose
Whose colors are a newly polished copper and whose numbers never dwindle.
I like star gazing especially when the sun is shining bright
And darkens the skin behind them so they shine even brighter.
I like star gazing when you smile and your eyes crinkle at the corners,
Folding your stars over themselves so much they demand to be spilled onto the grass below.
You probably wouldn’t even notice if you lost a few
Despite the dew collecting on your shoes from when you washed them off your face
Simply by laughing at the horrible joke I just told.
But I would pick them up and cup them in my hands to ensure they were never lost again,
Placing them into a glass jar on the night stand I keep in my memory.
They continue to charm me into slumber days after their light fades.
I like star gazing when I can feel the heat of their glow upon my own face,
In turn making my own cheeks flush pink
(Even though they are trying to match the tawny sheen of your stars.)
My eyes search for their patterns, creating constellations that tell stories of great adventure:
Wings showing how you flew across the solar system to be here in this moment,
Avoiding perils like black holes that threatened to extinguish your stars
Or the serpent you battled to protect the cosmos lining your jaw.
No one exactly knows how many stars are in our universe,
Just as I don’t exactly know how many are smeared beneath your eyes,
But I wish to find out.
I wish upon every single one of those stars as if it were the first time I had seen them
Like dusk is constantly hanging itself on the sleepy sun,
Tucking it in for the night with a blanket made of nebulas and diamonds.
Because every time you smile and crinkle your eyes,
I find a new one. A new wish.
I did not sleep last night; I, instead, talked to the moon.
She told me she prays to have stars like yours.
For beauty was always compared to her,
But now it is your cheeks and bridge of your nose she, I covet.
When I wake up in the morning, I do not hope I remembered to make coffee
Or have enough time to make pancakes.
I imagine the night again,
And hope that one day
The night will wake up beside me.
Something to help kick start their day in the right direction,
Except a cup of Joe or omelet doesn’t entice me enough to get out of bed.
I long for the scattered stars in the night sky,
But I don’t mean the twinkling lights painted onto the indigo tapestry we call “dusk,”
That drapes itself onto the setting sun
Just enough that we can still see our hands in front of our faces
And just enough that the street lights are guiding my steps.
I mean the ones sprinkling your cheeks and the bridge of your nose
Whose colors are a newly polished copper and whose numbers never dwindle.
I like star gazing especially when the sun is shining bright
And darkens the skin behind them so they shine even brighter.
I like star gazing when you smile and your eyes crinkle at the corners,
Folding your stars over themselves so much they demand to be spilled onto the grass below.
You probably wouldn’t even notice if you lost a few
Despite the dew collecting on your shoes from when you washed them off your face
Simply by laughing at the horrible joke I just told.
But I would pick them up and cup them in my hands to ensure they were never lost again,
Placing them into a glass jar on the night stand I keep in my memory.
They continue to charm me into slumber days after their light fades.
I like star gazing when I can feel the heat of their glow upon my own face,
In turn making my own cheeks flush pink
(Even though they are trying to match the tawny sheen of your stars.)
My eyes search for their patterns, creating constellations that tell stories of great adventure:
Wings showing how you flew across the solar system to be here in this moment,
Avoiding perils like black holes that threatened to extinguish your stars
Or the serpent you battled to protect the cosmos lining your jaw.
No one exactly knows how many stars are in our universe,
Just as I don’t exactly know how many are smeared beneath your eyes,
But I wish to find out.
I wish upon every single one of those stars as if it were the first time I had seen them
Like dusk is constantly hanging itself on the sleepy sun,
Tucking it in for the night with a blanket made of nebulas and diamonds.
Because every time you smile and crinkle your eyes,
I find a new one. A new wish.
I did not sleep last night; I, instead, talked to the moon.
She told me she prays to have stars like yours.
For beauty was always compared to her,
But now it is your cheeks and bridge of your nose she, I covet.
When I wake up in the morning, I do not hope I remembered to make coffee
Or have enough time to make pancakes.
I imagine the night again,
And hope that one day
The night will wake up beside me.
