you and your skin

i can see the little twilight cling to your skin like black ice to a road. i can pick out each individual eyelash, each fleck of coffee brown irises. there is a wealth of nearly-brown hair falling across a wide forehead. theres is an easiness to the fingers at base of my chin. that familiarity of long practice, like a cook might finger a beloved knife

you scribbled on the dark for me and i hand these messes up on the sky like art on a refrigerator. when they come later, they will call them stars. 

stars fell for you

youve got starlight under your fingernails and nebulae dust on your palms. what a mess

stares were born for you