Lungs of the Galaxy

Do you think the moon cries

for every star that dies?

I wonder how her tears taste:

if they’re hollow with memories,

or heavy with loss.

Do you think the sun mourns for

every hour she’s lost?

I wonder in the winter,

when the skies are black and days forgotten,

if she is ever frozen.

If I could hold them I would.

I would pluck each light from the sky

and let them decorate my skin

as I count their every colour.

I would dance along the embers of galaxies,

and surf across the corners of the milky way.

I would dress myself in each planet

until I was the lungs

of the universe,

and the veins of the world.