I Will, Make You All, So Beautiful...

I held stars in my palms and saw you holding stars behind the glass of your eyes.

I peered through a cosmic mind to a planet revolving around mine.

Like every distant thing was attached to elastic bands between my fingers, and I somehow managed to catapult myself closer.

Like the world was a puppet attached to your hair. When I run my fingers through it I can control time,

When you run your fingers through it, you can erase my past like it was pencil on paper, like it didn't even matter.

We could spin and not get dizzy, but drill a hole to spend some time in, build cities out of clay, and live our dreams through an improvised role playing play.

When I was young I fell into the woods, I bore witness to a full moon werewolf marriage, and they asked me, what would you like? And I replied trembling and shy, that I didn't want to die. So they took me by my shirt, but these were no ordinary wolves, this one had a Degree, he bit into my neck eating my flesh, he laid me beside a 4ft mushroom stool and said "Now you will live forever, be what you want to be".

I store polaroid memories of wrinkles, floral couches, a green motorcycle and yellow cork tiles, among other things. My head is like the storeroom of God, the library of some other extraterrestrial me, recording things in a grey matter scrap book. Like the time you touched ice and for a split second it felt like hot water, the times you drew your Father with a square head and he put it on the fridge, the time you thought that babies came from the stars, the time you thought one drink made you an alcoholic, the times you sang in class and didn't even care you sounded like blunt razor blades mowing skyscrapers, the time you got your pen license, the times you tried to swing so high that you'd manage to swing a somersault, the times you pretended to be a waterfall on the monkey bars.

There are windows, and then there are windows. And windows within windows.

Like you were staring at the girl of your dreams with X-ray vision. Staring at her bones and beyond those, to her soul.

Sing to the vent in the ceiling, sing to the empty feeling. The fold in the couch.

He won't even know we're gone. He'll be dreaming of mice and birds, sleeping on the curb. Dreaming of street lights, alleyways and fast food trays.

We are far apart, and not much between, nothing is as tame as your tongue.