cassiopeia

(and when you look up at the stars, do you think of me?)

come, watch. 
A tale of two souls 
pulled  a  p  a  r  t  by fate’s grimy arms 
(known to weasel their way 
into even the most beautiful 
of stories). 

my fingers grasp onto your cold veiny hand, 
we sit on an itchy emerald green futon,
your eyes  c  l  o  s  e  d, my eyes on your
heart,
in silence Thick enough to be clean cut 
by your butcher’s knife -- 
if love is a heartbeat 
our silence may as well be 
cardiac  a  r  r  e  s  t 
.

. 

. 

. 

fade in, fade
o  u  t. 


do you   s   e   e   it now? 

 
It was three months ago. 
we sat on the same futon (though it was far cleaner 
back then),
i told you i was my mother’s daughter 
and you responded with some out of the book lecture 
about young writers and their  b  o  r  i  n  g  platitudes. 

 

but can’t you    s   e   e   it? 

in the  l  o  n  e  l  y  creeping hours 
of the desolate night 
—eyes open wide—
i gamble, my pen a hand of cards 
and my parchment a felt-topped table 
. 
a story of two lovers Rewritten a thousand times 
just for one shot at an ending 
that happens to coincide 
with the end of a sentence. 

won't you just open your eyes, damn it. 
for those same nights 
I walk out of my house  
and   l   o   o   k   to the sky 
and wonder if you are sitting 
on your balcony 
(though i know you are asleep,
head filled with no dreams of me) 
and i start to   f   a   n   t   a   s   i   z   e   
that our eyes might just meet
at cassiopeia,
—open wide—
and you will think of m

//no comments here. i hope u like. sometimes we want to be seen. <3. nina_6 on discord.

- nina