I wonder if the stars ever thinking about kissing you the way I do.
If when you look up on your way home from work,
stopped outside your apartment,
the moon reflecting bits of stardust from your irises,
does the sky know just how lucky it is to see you?
To bounce off your shoulder blades,
To hold your gaze,
if even only a moment?
I ask myself,
is it fair that the sky always has you?
I have to steal moments from memories,
old text messages,
reconstructing your face in my mind,
trace your jawline,
in my imagination,
in my hair.
The sky always has you.
And I guess I never really did.
When it rains,
I think maybe that’s the sky being jealous of the times we came so close.
It was hungry to taste you,
but you were too busy in my bed,
so it wept droplets of envy.
I want to tell the sky,
“You stupid little thing!
Or big I should say.
How can you mourn him?
How can you ask for his undivided attention?
I just wanted a sliver.
I wanted a few months.
So I got a few months
But now I am selfish and I want another night.
But the moon,
You occupy every bit of him.
You’re in his eyes.
You are the same color.
The same texture.
When you cry,
it’s so silly.
He looks at you every single day and I have to believe
he thinks of me so rarely.
I believe you are greedy, Sky.
He finds you all so fascinating.
and I want to ask him why,
The big dipper could have been anything.
We could have been anything.
Do you know how often people think they see shooting stars,
but I bet they are planes,
or something equally mundane?
you drown in his baby blues every day
And I just wanted a few more days.”
So I wonder if the stars want to kiss you.
Because it’s been a little while.
And I look at the stars.
I’d still like to kiss you.