Lungs of the Galaxy
Do you think the moon cries
for every star that dies?
I wonder how her tears taste:
if they’re hollow with memories,
or heavy with loss.
Do you think the sun mourns for
every hour she’s lost?
I wonder in the winter,
when the skies are black and days forgotten,
if she is ever frozen.
If I could hold them I would.
I would pluck each light from the sky
and let them decorate my skin
as I count their every colour.
I would dance along the embers of galaxies,
and surf across the corners of the milky way.
I would dress myself in each planet
until I was the lungs
of the universe,
and the veins of the world.
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