stars

I eat stars. Biting and swallowing. Great handfuls of millennial light.  Until I am filled up with silver. Glowing with beams of brightness. Bursting with starry fire.  Radiant with the subtle blues and reds and greens. I eat stars.  Reaching into the inky sky to pluck them like fruit.  Like jewels.  Like tears.  I eat stars.  Stars that taste like memory.  Like forever.  Like silk and cobwebs.  Stars that slip on my tongue and shiver me.  Stars that crunch and break like brittle glass.  Stars that taste of ice and ages.  Stars that make no sound when I pull them from the arc of heaven.  That succumb.  Silently.  Without will.  Without wondering.  Falling stars and even’ stars.  Stars that aren’t really stars at all.  But dreams and longing and echoes of prayers.  I eat stars. Until the night is black again. Until the dark is complete again.  Unadorned.  Until the sleepers don’t dream and the lovers sleep.  And dawn creeps up like a thief

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