Here I want to write about a galaxy.
I want to paint a picture with a slim-tipped brush on the inside of your mind.
It will have milky skys and dark summer nights
and holes in mysterious places.
not too many of them so that there won't be the will
to take and take.
dipped in perfection and delicate seasoning,
there will be a blue mass of deep salty water,
sand that shines golden under the moon shadows.
Blue moons, yellow moons, pink sunsets, orange sunrises.
There will be intricate details in meticulous order,
the tangling of a sparkling web.
Don't open your eyes
until I tell you that it's safe
to believe in
the feather colored curtains of my fantasy.
Shut them tight until you realize
that this all sounds strangley familiar.
Gently flutter a lash
and take a peak at what has always been obvious.
There is a galaxy;
it's our galaxy.