You are broken,
and I don't have surgeons hands.
I can not stitch together
your patch work heart. 

Your foundation is dust,
your bones cracked.
I can not make
a body so weary move again.

I can, however, brush stardust
paint on used up lips
and whisper love stories
into empty ears.

I can not fix you,
but I can give you
a supernova love
while you fix yourself.