My fingers are smudged in color
–reds, golds, greens and blues
–like I’ve dipped my hands into
endless galaxies and wiped
a thousand stars upon my skirt.
My head is spinning with
the gravity of a dozen planets,
and I lean into the tidal pull
of at least that many moons.
When they rise across the sky–
will you raise your voice and
howl at them with me, while
a thousand shooting stars
light up the night, exploding
in the atmosphere of my flesh?
—–
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