When I was little,
I used to dance underneath the stars,
trailing my finger against the path of constellations
and read the little messages
and trails that they left out.
Above the Heavens
you could read my destiny and future
like you would read any old book,
but all I cared about was the story
that the stars hid
and the moon told.
Wayland.
YOU ARE READING
Endless May
PoetryAll poems written throughout quarantine's May. Poems about lust, sunflowers, and dancing in a field of stars.
