The Black Napkin Volume 1 Issue 7 | Page 14

10

stargazing

wear six silver rings

on each hand.

cold metal fingers slip under your

shirt

scare you under the blue

black moonless night. feel

your mouth sucking

as if on the first peach of summer

constellations: a shawl over you on this cold,

burning night, wearing you like

rings on their fingers, glinting

grimaces of purity or commitment

try to gulp through space.

hear your name

shouted into the heavens, unto

the ears of angels on high gleaming

like the festering wound slime throat ache

hiding from you.

miss you in the festering,

wish for you in this cloak of stars

like the freckles on your back,

through the gaping void between us