if these hands could speak

those constellations
in each darkened sky
leaves me lost for words
although feeling skin
seems to bring it back
into my lips.
if stroking egos 
is the easiest way
to be understood,
running fingers down
each goosebump where
abadoned hearts once laid
is like coming back one more time
and saying
"everything is ok
i'm here to breathe with you."
suffocating the oxygen
we use to bridge the broken heart pieces
scattered across our floor
pouring like the red sea.
these were once bright stars
and we hold on deeply 
letting the light fall 
and skies turn black.