1. he dangles stars from my buns, calls me princess leia; lets the stars whisper poetry into my ears
2. he picks dirt and salt from under my fingernails, grow flowers on my windowsill. life is so beautiful
3. he loves me he loves me so. he runs his tongue over my pens. he wishes he could get closer to me; if i slit his neck he would bleed love
4. he's kind. he calls me new york (i'm not too angry). drinks my words, snorts them, goes through withdrawal every few
and that's nice. we stand on the edge and look at the city lights that are glitter, and we feel miniscule. the moon is at reach: he grabs it and puts it in my pocket, the stars in my hair laugh/dance/giggle/love
