i. the sun is tearing the night apart
and you know and he knows
that you'd rather cling onto the
the stars in your palm, shyly
twinkling like the words he is only
brave enough to whisper when you
are half awake
ii. no stars in his eyes,
no galaxies in yours -
this is only fireplace friendship
to keep each other warm
iii. this is what you tell yourself
every morning you wake
up in his arms
iv. you won't ever lose those stars
you clutch like diamonds and prayer beads
or raindrops of crystal gold
they burn your fingers sometimes
so you treasure them in your shivering bones
until they collapse in on your soul
as if darkness has a weight -
misery is the only color that can't escape,
you fill your veins with stardust debris
and white and white and white
to compensate an emptiness that
has no name until you watch
yourself fall apart like dying embers
of fires of the heart
v. did you forget?
these ashes of you,
all black too
vi. he tells you, no, he
forces you to rid this habit
of dropping black holes at your own feet
he aches to see you asleep on the streets
when there is always home right where
he breathes
but you like it better underneath
the moon, the stars in your worn-out
pockets are a little brighter in the dark,
a little lighter to hold when your fingers
forget to suffocate and tremble
the way they have grown used to
vii. the stars are even brighter
viii. when he holds them
ix. with you
x. will it hurt so much if you
drop one
only for his
hand?
do you know my face like the back of your hand