to the stars who listen: poetry

45. read to me

your voice sounds like stars shining, like waves crashing upon the shore,
as you read to me; "it's okay to be cold, as long as you have someone to be cold with."
the butterflies stop to listen, and they fall to the bottom of my stomach from the sheer weight of the love in my heart, in my veins. the significance of you, taking care of me gently, like you always have.
and if I could capture your voice in a jam jar, perhaps I could fall asleep to its soft, kind glow
like a hundred fireflies, always giving me light.
and if I could bottle the feeling of your arms, your hands, it would be for me like alcohol to you.
if I could catch all of the sparks of safety in the silence, I could light New York City during a power cut,
and if I could pull all of the stars from the sky,
I'd thread them through your hair and place them in your eyes,
so that everyone around would finally see you
as a galaxy,
like I always have.