you always liked to pretend that the stars were touchable
as if the helium flame was created to fit into your scarred,
mechanics palm, is the bravery of your foolishness that
tugs at my tendons until I follow you, into the light
of hydrogen diamonds, hanging close enough
to touch, close enough to trace our initials in.
when it is cold enough to ice my toes through my shoes,
i remember you, holding stars in your palm to brush their
glitter onto my cheeks, how warm your fingertips were on
my cheekbones, how the snap of sparks left us marked,
mapped out for discovery on the long walk home.