I was the first to say the moon spoke words only I could hear
First to tell you how stardust wasn’t liquid decadence;
it was the stuff of cremated wishes, burning in the hollows of my joints
It was the- I want you to punch me, right here, between my elbow and my shoulder
I really wanted that kiss to bruise.

Darling pain is endurable, love is not. Hurt me, so I can feel that your there.
Love me for but a season, tell me you’ll love me for more.
Tell me the things the moon does not say.
Hide me in the braces of your spine, I want to entangle.

It was the I want you tell me blue eyed and broken,
missing and cemented with the ashes of cremated organs of men at war
that cinder-blocks weighed not one ton

It was the everything and nothing for miles and miles,
words muttered under the influence of the sky.
Wrapped up in the whispers of words no one wants to say,
the words neither of us could say
(the words i never did say)

And I guess words will always be words,
transcribed and translated,
a billion names to a billion pretty things.
Eye sockets filled, novels running from tears.
I swear I’m just made of pieces.

And I believe we’re all satellites in orbit pre-programmed and installed,
system fighters failing to enclose and seal,
ceilings of the sky.

A lack of wrapping paper so we get to hear the moon cry,
hidden-ly and subtle-ly mask the lies,
encoded through every whoosh the wind never makes
and wishes from candy-land lips that never take true,
we over hear the planets mock