I'll miss the stars and record players
Spinning in their galaxies,
These orbits outside my window.
Miles above the radiation-
Light years away from memories of
hands and tears nestling into my fingertips.
My shoulders closing in like book covers,
letting my heart be burrowed in my
word soaked ribs.
I curb loneliness with pages.
His spine is gone and yet five spines
have settled in my bed,
peaking at me under pillowcases,
laughing below my calve
and lounging beside me in my sheets.
The stars have the black matter to
nestle inside of but I have
my serpentine spines.
The night wears on and yet sleep
remains a shadow dancing on my wall.
Pages flutter with the breeze sneaking
in through the open window and
rattling the cages the characters share,
begging for stories to be told.
Go to sleep, I whisper, trying to
evaporate into the stars as they
beat against my brain and seconds
hoist their hands on toward daylight.
Another morning coming much too soon.
But I'd rather be tired and inspired,
heart on fire, fingertips wired to the keys,
than retired from the desire to create
and let these people breathe.