i watch her reach into the sky and paint the stars into place: each swirl of her finger makes the world glow a little brighter, the night seem a little less dark. she crushes a small chip of paint in her warm hand and spreads the stardust over my body. it tingles and burns and for a moment i am helpless. then i am no longer human.
YOU ARE READING
labyrinthine → poetry
Poezja"i think you were made to talk to the stars. (i think the stars were made to listen to you)" -m.v.
