There are moons in my fingers and
frosted glinted shattered crushed to
dust (stardust)
at my feet.
you laugh and
stop and jolt n go conversations
about the solar system moon miranda
which
swallowed itself like i feel i've
swallowed my tongue.
a fractured flying globe of a moon
that put itself back together –
i haven't yet, you would fault me for
it.
our conversations hit like
the cosmic collision that flipped
miranda's
planet with gravity upturned and
farflung
sideways orbits.
and there are moons in my fingers,
crescents in my arms.
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