Jupiter and Saturn sit outside my window. The night sky holds them, pregnant and full.
From where I sit, on the inside of my bed, wrapped in thick comfort, they appear to be stars.
So, I wish on them.
Whisper my future into the present, hoping the night sky carries my lips to their ears.
My lips ask for feeling.
Nothing to hold
Or show
Even.
But for
Warmed hands making my waist feel good
Laughing eyes when the room can’t hold our breath
Silent hugs after 9 to 5 death.
Someone to
Confide in when the world turns shallow
Massage with prayer
After life leaves them bare.
I think it’s supposed to feel light
Like skin after you bathe.
But heavy too
Like hidden tears turned frozen.
Is it too much to ask for?
This feeling
Of light and heavy
Can the night sky hold this weight?
Am I too selfish to ask?
You,
Jupiter
Or you,
Saturn
For this feeling.
Stars that aren’t stars.
Can I still wish on you?