She’s Cosmic,
Consistent
moving like liquid magenta
across the dance floor
toward a blackened corner,
I see her
flirting again
I think of spilled drinks
& consistency
cosmopolitan,
“a ‘tini for the teeny”,
so quasar cute,
but empty around the eyes,
a black hole soul
I think of heartache
& hearsay
have you ever
scraped a fallen star
from off the ground,
beyond rock bottom,
where no light has touched before?
I think of loneliness
& laser beam precision
she cries every dusk,
cascading space dust of regret,
a crater in her chest,
the sky seems bigger
when I see it by myself
I think of meteor showers
& the art of minding my own business
the tub is lined with sequins
as her astral lullaby plays,
on repeat, repeat:
the night is
young & glorious
I think of the Orionids
& how we’re growing old
Too old,
too old for this
April, 2019
Thistle Thoughts 