These stars ive constructed—
strung from my sky
in scarce moments
of blessed, pitiful hope
These stars ive built—
they resemble the remnants of old stickers,
a nebula still partially stuck
on my bedroom ceiling.
These eyes I hold—
they feel so weary,
They watch—
as these stars
(such fanciful stars
dreamt up
from a fool's rosy reverie)
these stars ive built,
fall from overhead.
Ephemeral,
as fleeting
as the ones my sister once tore
from this ceiling.
I bear the mark of a kiss—
on my lips-
my joints
my collar and jaw bones
I bear the afterglow—
of a nova of a sort
dusting my cheeks
lingering across
the lids of my eyes.