s t a r l e s s n i g h t s

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I remember

    how your hands

            could write words,

                      but your lips

                           had the courage

to set them free

                                     in blurted whispers,

  piercing the starless night

            with stars of your own—

stars made of

  the kind of fiery regret

            that burns down 

in your chest,

until you 

          set it

loose

 to shoot across the sky

                       in flames—

a shooting star borne from 

                                         the suffocating fire inside



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