You bruise me like the evening sky,
purple clouds forming on my sunset skin.
I never knew that galaxies could ache,
as fingertips trace,
the constellations of your affections.

You pull at my flesh,
break the bone of my breast,
unlocking the chest
containing the contents of
my heart and lungs.

With frantic fingers you press,
poke and pry at my mess,
in desperate search of
the love in my blood.

Through all of your attempts,
you begin to sense
that nothing grows where
emotions should belong;
and all I do is stain your arms.

A reminder of what we used to be,
rests in the cold space next to me;
you've become an empty spot
inside my heart and head.
I miss you in my bed.

I want to be your
inner constellations.
Filling up your head with
stardust and lust;
bright longings that break
your dark thoughts
on lonely nights.

Like a shooting star I'll
burst across neurons,
burning light on
receptors that ache.
Igniting the shimmers of
glimmering memories.

When you look at the stars,
I hope it'll never be the same.

You take advantage of
my tinted cheeks,
displayed desire I didn't mean
to share like the warmth that
a winter chill breaks.
I am bitten;
smitten with eyes that
don't want my heart,
just my blushing smile.

You sink holes into my chest,
burning goodbyes into my flesh
with the ends of cigarettes;
little ashy reminders that
people are temporary.
And like the smoke that
curls from your lips,
tracing the very distance
between you and the December sky;
you escape me.