Stars, Unfinished.

Stars.
Tracing constellations with our fingers.
Books. Reading pages out loud.
Your voice.
And nothing more.
Sidewalk drawings and paper plane smiles.
These are things, I can only almost remember.
Shadows. How they talked.
Dreams. How they felt.
Voices.
Your voice, and nothing more.
The sun tilting over the horizon
The ocean crashing the sand
The grass dancing in the wind
People's footsteps on stairways
Clouds grow midnights in the daytime
You
Your voice
Nothing more
Hands. Teachers. Friends. Mothers.
More hands.
Lovers. Painters. Sinners.
Paperback books.
Your voice.
So much more.
Water.
Pouring hot liquid over dented skin
Drawings lines with cold blades
Blood.
Cuts.
Bruises.
Why?
You said surrender.
I said please.
Blankets now.
Pillow forts, and folded sheets.
Nightlights and flashlights and tail lights.
Bedtime stories under quakes of thunder
Tree leaves shedding
Rain kissing our noses
All those sidewalk drawings, and paper plane smiles



TBE.