Lovely. No, its fine I’ll start.

With the Stars.

You start war’s and play war cards.

All night long connect collaborated creations, bump like nicety no doubt. Stars.

Collateral of broken material love like love like pieces like love like nothing. Stars.

Lovely, and all along you whisked me away to another place that sings. Stars.

I don’t want to be cliché,

But facing strange things seems to say,

You want me, and I “need you” to…

To not stop loving me when you’re feeling blue,

because you want me, and I “need you” too.

Why when fake fated grace is there, I seem to dream of you.

When grace alone leaves the quiet stars, I know that you do too.

When we make love you say you love,

the love and say you love me too.

An adequate proportion of this conversation lends itself an ear,

to the starry nights of constellations that consoled such rolling tears.

To hear me speak of a wonder unknown, crafty crushed and overrated

Hear me now for when I say that destiny has fated,

for us to keep crashing and burning and crashing,

See me for what I am. Stars.

Stars are everlasting.

Patient Stars are everlasting anyway.

Anyway, I mean— who I am— I’m sorry. I mean, what I mean is…

 You know what I mean.

I need to not be everlasting with lovely patient Wait,

Which waits for an attractive fix to knock on Heaven’s gate,

Sweet nostalgia and moonlit nighttime shining through a mystic fate.

I think Heaven itself has fallen,

 From Grace.

To Grace Dearly:

As a Star—Grace, I think we should talk more often.