|The 2River View||25.2 (Winter 2021)|
Stars form from gas and debris and so do we.
through Chinatown, your spacedust fingers laced
in a shop window, stitched with some age-old sadness,
smile pulling me in. So if we are like the stars, maybe
to my Nebula, our orbits just out of reach. Only now, I wish
on your chest, your skin smelled of universe
When our eyes catch your cheeks bloom vermilion
which would be a good thing, except vermilion
That pigmented red will kill you.
your muscles turn weak, head foggy
your mouth tastes of metal and your breath is ragged.
your vision and your skin is starting to sting.
your hand holding mine, searching
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