“The Stars Of This Poem”

Not with the soft hands
that leave me
these are made of desert sand
a different house
a house of hours
underneath the configurable stars
penance
turns the clock from orange to red
some new technology runs
on board a space ship
so a new time is born
one that is free from revolutions

In a cave
below a chalky canyon
I believe in you
for your precious script of DNA
your chestnut brown hair
the journey of your lips

my bones turn to dust

they kiss their galactic sojourn

They are the stars of this poem

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