Your hand

Your hand

Constellations
speckles your fingers
as if stars
spat upon them
or galaxies
rising for breath
from your blood

all night
you’ve been painting
the night
the sable brush
of your flame
sooting the back
of my hands

I feel the slight scratch
of shooting stars
as your hand
heated heroin
frothing
within mine

3 Replies to “Your hand”

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