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Tin Stars

A man climbs the sky,
holding fists full of tin stars.
He is night’s would-be lover.
Her nameless handyman,
a man with bandaid hands,
careless touch.
He’s looking for her,
to pin his stars across her dress.

Coat of black,
buttoned one and three.
leather smell.
He cannot wear the red of love,
it would scare her away.
She is lost.

It was long ago
she stopped for day, blue and bright,
He burnt her dress.
Instead only coffee with dusk.
Tiny chipped cups steam their words.
The purple pansy pattern faded.
So soon loneliness enters,
only the moon hanging itself
stays.

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Comments

  • ariyahjoseph
    ariyahjosephover 5 years ago

    could i bother to ask what is the inspiration behind or else i fear i may interpret wrong

  • Monica Ellis
    Monica Ellisover 5 years ago

    falling in love with the wrong person, and waiting for the right one.

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