Even though

  Even though I won’t see you again or I’ll never even meet you I’ll hope you’ll read this the darkness of my words flaring briefly in the midnight of your eyes and I’ll hope they’ll let go of a handful of blossom at the heart of your heart a slow snowfall in the dark

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