He's got stars.
Stars in his head.
They're in his smile,
sleep beneath his bed.
To be closer.
Closer to happiness.
He will walk on them,
and they will hold him up.
Never think twice about
the color of his love.
He's got stars, all the same.
Stars in the brain.
And the dust will be on the floor
when he leaves.
It sifts through my fingers
sparkles toward the door.
I don't like the rhyme, but I think I like the flow of the rest of it. I need to think about this one. Same deal as last time?
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