I think the stars are screaming
honey. They’re melting
into lemon drops you
dissolve on the edge of
your tongue.

I want more than that.
Can’t we string them in a row
down caverns? (Let us glow.)
You do not see me,
as more than somewhere
to hang your keys when you
hold her hand and whisper
little loves.

I could tear each fingernail
from their home,
(carry these hands with you)
so that you know how my
words feel when I scream them,
alone.

I am not much more,
than a freckle on your thumb
(play with me, and press me right).
But if there’s nothing in the sky,
were our atoms meant to join?