Stars Pouring Milk

Stars Pouring Milk

 

I want to see it the way you are seeing it.
I want to hear the sounds of your hidden scars.
I want the silence of a corner booth,
a glass of wine and piano music playing
songs we do not know.
I know it is not the way you planned it.
I know it seldom is.

I would add your pain to mine,
I would join you in the cloudy thoughts
that seep in so unexpectedly. I would
sing you the lyrics we both forget so well.

I want to hear your hurts, though it may be
I have heard them one thousand times before.
It never matters if you repeat them,
it never weighs on my mind.

Your story is my story. And I guard it
in the archives of my heart. Your sadness
is my sadness. And I see it like stars
pouring milk across the midnight sky.

We will sit until your hands warm up,
we will talk until our hearts beat to
the same rhythm, the one the universe
gives in ebbs and flow of seasons, tides
and ocean waves. We will weave our stories
together,
a quilt of crazy choices, and someday laugh
at everyone who never showed up
when our faces were red, and we bled
in front of them all. We, you and I,
will stay far later than last call.

I want to sit back and sigh. I want to
never
say
goodbye.
I want to defrost the fear and
find the few who do not care
that our stories have such sad chapters as these.

I want to know that, between every slowly pronounced
word,
lives a prayer and a love that is always heard

In the silences we wish other people had seen.