In backs of cars
Lips form stars
And then
Entire constellations.
You burn bright
Blinking satellite
And disrupt
My concentration.
Your hands cast light
Bleed through the night
And the sun himself
Envies you.
Galaxies swoon
And you're loved by the moon
But she doesn't want you as badly
As I do.
Under this black sky
My stars die
And my heart cries
Out for more.
You have me moon-struck
Guess that's my luck
Just like the planets' alignments
Swore.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 8:20 PM UTC
In backs of cars
Lips form stars
And then
Entire constellations.
You burn bright
Blinking satellite
And disrupt
My concentration.
Your hands cast light
Bleed through the night
And the sun himself
Envies you.
Galaxies swoon
And you're loved by the moon
But she doesn't want you as badly
As I do.
Under this black sky
My stars die
And my heart cries
Out for more.
You have me moon-struck
Guess that's my luck
Just like the planets' alignments
Swore.
Another writing exercise, this time in focused imagery.
