under love’s star
hanging by spindle thread of silver
in the all-expansive sky above-
boy, girl
but within this blanket of black
under spinning axis of glittering white
you could hardly tell the difference-
just the two of them,
just the two of them ‘neath the star
lover’s lookout, has never been so empty of teenage sound
as she exhales
he inhales
and they pass breath between each other,
say nothing,
do nothing
“will you ever get married,” she asks
voice only curiosity
“do you think you could ever fall in love?”
and he looks up at universe above
so broad, so wide
and the sky’s many shimmering eyes
wink back at him
“i don’t think i could,” boy answers honestly
“i’m too in love with the world to love just one part."
do you love only one star, not the whole sky?
or is this a taut metaphor,
a poor excuse to excuse
a lack that feels so natural
that it doesn’t feel like a lack at all?
and girl smiles,
first time in awhile-
“i feel the same way.”