i always cry at endings

there is night in the air with sky in the middle
and particles of light that blind me a little.
a fearless young moon shines light through kerr jars
to lead experienced armies of shining pink stars
in through my window and on to my bed,
lighting pillows on fire that cradle my head.
then a grave ashen whisper creeps up from beneath
the bright burning mattress and supernova sheets
to feed me the words that i don't want to taste,
but i eat them all raw and get ink on my face...

the warmth of your starlight
kept me warm with its heat
and the wind chill
only sang me to sleep

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