stars like cooked diamonds

I laid down on that hard bench

with nobody else around

that time without you around

unless I pushed those buttons

and made those waves dance

and bounce across the space

I stared into, mostly up up up

where stars like cooked diamonds

tried reassurance tactics while

I needed your words, your mind

for real reassurance, the kind

I could hit the pillow with and

not wake up until my brain gave the all-clear;

my back got restless, waiting,

waiting for you to say something

after casting my line into a night

illuminated by your response

and those soft needle stars

I notice for what feels like the first time,

again,

after which your asteroid response

becomes a meteor before my eyes

and I am an astronaut jettisoned

somewhere warmer.

I slurp this spatial soup,

knowing you’ve handed me the spoon.

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