Edible Stars
Edible Stars
If stars are fruits of burned silver,
I'd bite into them in autumn's rhythm,
crunchy, cold, to crack between my teeth
like living ice that throws moon sparks.
I'd crush them, I'd crush them,
till the Milky Way flows down my chest,
star milk, star milk,
sweet and cold, down to the depths.
I'd sip the moon from my bare palm,
without cup, without law,
let it burn my throat with molten gold
and weave lace in my stomach.
I'd pull the North into my chest with thirst,
freeze my lungs into two mirrors,
then blow it over the sea
in waves of dust and memories.
I chew the fog like dream cotton,
soft, moist, full of oak trees,
until my skin becomes forest
and blue moss grows in scars.
My blood – rose rain,
beats on the fire earth that waits,
to give it drink, to give it drink,
until my heart cracks with living galaxies.
Star by star, star by star,
I fill my emptiness up to heaven,
supernovas explode in my chest
like a dance of light and iron.
If stars are edible,
I no longer know what hunger is, no,
I am a universe digesting itself
in autumn's rhythm that learned to breathe in me.
I am satiated with myself,
down to the last star beat,
down to the last star beat.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
