Star-Gazing

Tell me what the hood of your truck feels like.
I think i want to melt into warm metal.
I think I want to look at the stars so much
that my love for constellations
causes them to tremble.
I think I want the sky to fall on me.

Tell me that that is a kind of love.

See us sitting in a field,
flannel blanket amidst wild flowers.
You murmur about life’s imperfections and I laugh a garden.
We entwine under an indigo sky
and there are vines connecting with pinpoints of life.
I think I want to root into earth.
I think I want the soil to take our fingerprints
twist our DNA
until we are nothing more than dandelion fluff
and children are wishing on the fantasy of us.

Tell me that that is a sign of blooming.

Tell me we can be something
under a dark sky
amidst swaying stems.
Tell me that summer is more than just “I think”
and “are wishing”.
Show me more than
“kinds” and “signs.”

Promise me
that we, too, can be wonderful.

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Zoom, Zoom, Zoom

I have cared for your opinion
as if you lift the stars
from a box on your nightstand
and hang each one preciously,
each one precariously in the sky,
because you have been master of the universe
in my body galatica
and I still feel like the final frontier
every time
you leave;

I became space:
cold and empty
and you were never orbiting.

But I remember the days when you
saw the pattern in the rays
from the sun,
and positioned moons like mirrors,
so the warmth might hit me…

Pluto
is a planet reinstated, love.
There has never been an end out here;
in the darkest heavens,
we remain the only things
with finality.

Life is too short
oxygen is too few
to waste breaths on opinions
that last shorter than the lifespan
of a star;
even the ones blown out
too soon.

Twilight

Break over my body
like sunset;
I feel your teal
melting my yellow
and I am pushing down
morning star
while pulling
your hands across my horizon.

Meet my molten mouth
with your lunar lips
until I am seeing stars behind my eyes.
You have the universe in the palm of your hands
and you paint it over me in galaxies.

The only Milky Way
I’m swimming through
is between the river-like flow
of our two bodies
as my hips circle like Saturn’s rings
and you rove over my plains
like the freckles on my stomach
are the once existing stream
found on Mars.

I crave for you to make
me North Star:
highest point of reference
climax,
but instead I puddle into Northern Lights,
leading other lovers
toward celestial bodies
they will one day call
“home”.

You and I
are the love child
day and night
made.

I Want to Hold the Stars in My Palms

I reach for you
like I’m trying to peel the stars back from
their heavenly ceiling.
I call us things like
“phenomenon” and
“alien”.

I claim we harbor a love
that is
“celestial”,
“galactic”,
and before you know it,
we are braving the
“Final Frontier”.

And if in the end,
everything either blows out,
or explodes into supernova,
I want to throttle forth with you.
I want to fall from the sky,
wrapped around your comet’s
tail.

Maybe we will cause second Ice Age.
Maybe matter will expand and explode and
once again,
planets will form,
species will come into existence,
and time will stand still.

Maybe this a poetic way of saying:
when you touch me I see stars and everything is
aligned for once, my body is your Milky Way,
and I understand why some people give different names to
Creation;
(it’s because of the sounds they make when their
bones are breaking, when they are sweetly aching—)
Big
Bang.

If I’m lucky,
I’ll get to be your moon.
To put it simply:
I revolve around you.

Dream-Made Islands

I dreamt that I
fell asleep in your
bloodstream.
Found my heart
washed up on the
shore of your palms.
Thought
“Maybe scars will be stars
and between their lines and
the compass of gravity
I’ll have no trouble finding
my way home.”

They say the moon pulls
the tides,
and oceans rock the restless.

Yet every morning,
I wake to the sun and a dry bed,
my head clouded with sand
and my ear pressed to the pillow,
waiting to hear the sound of rushing
pulses.

Poem for CW: Feedback?

How I Wonder Where You Are

I watch

From clouds on high

Legs dangling

Chucks clicking together

Laces untied;

Strings hanging, hanging, hanging

Like the hope I should have held onto

But instead

I watch her

As she pushes back her hair

On some city street

Far, far below

Wind whipping around her

Causing the skirt of her dress to twirl

Red and white polka dots

Dance against her snow white skin

Her feet stay together

Short black boots

Bounce up and down

As heel touches ground

Then lifts

Even though she’s not moving

She hasn’t been moved, not really;

Not in a long time.

But that’s why she’s here.

To make her

Move (on)…

(Move forward).

She lifts her hand to call a cab

Pale

Long

Thin fingers, nails painted black.

The yellow beasts run rampant

Past her

Toward something else

Her hair releases from the perch

Behind her ear

Pearls glistening on them

And she waits

But not for him to see her though he does

And with just one look

The boy has fallen in love with her

He knows it,

As cheesy and cliché as it sounds

But he’s walking toward her

And she stands still,

Hand raised, eyes closing

As she exhales a sigh

And a whistle pierces the air

Causing her to turn

A cab to stop

Him to drop his two fingers from his mouth

As she nods her thanks and moves toward

The vehicle as he

Grabs the door and holds it

Open for her to get

In to something she isn’t prepared for because

He’s said hello

And they’ve exchanged names

Lips moving, yet I can’t hear a sound

But he’s getting in after her and I push myself

To a stand before I begin pacing

Debating whether or not to trust him

To like him

For her.

*****
She emerges from the bedroom

He’s asleep and none the wiser

Darkness has fallen

And drinks had been poured

His house is huge, she notices

Bare feet on wood floors

She glides amidst the stark

Furniture, leather chairs,

Couches, and a glass table

Toward a telescope

That sits near a big bay window.

The city’s on fire

Each building twinkling

Yet her eyes are on the sky

Hands gripped around the cool metal as she

Adjusts the lens, and looks through

The eye piece at the stars

The universe and the

Clouds above where I

Sit on my cloud-made sill

Feet dangling, laces hanging

Like hopes I should have held onto

Instead of leaving her

My baby sister

Fending for herself in the city;

Unmoving, unswaying

Yet searching

For me

The brother that she let go

That the beasts took

So cruelly

When he moved to the city.

But her brother’s gone

In more ways than one

And he’s here

Yet…

She keeps searching

The stars

The heavens

The city

Looking for whatever

Answer she can find

Trying not to believe

She’s alone:

Hanging

Onto hope.