celestial noise

i asked you, "can you hear that?"
we were sitting on the highest branches
of the old playground oak tree 
taking spoonfuls of night. i fed you
& darkness dripped from the corner of your mouth
down your neck. all the stars were old tamborines
& we had no where at all to go. the sound
was like a stampede of aluminum foil
or the opening of the oldest jaw. 
then, almost like placing a fresh ear
to the lips of a conch shell. 
we were no longer lovers but friends
who could recount the stories of each other's skin.
you with the constellation freckles. me with
the scar from a thorn in my side.
the last firefly of the year held on
speaking her light in the hopes of getting a response.
all the cars on the road drove towards
supermarkets or gas stations. we closed our eyes
to hear the sound more clearly. "yes, i hear it,"
you said with eyes closed. the language 
of the stars & the planets vibrated our bones.
i remembered the first time we kissed
like toads in the damp woods. two boys 
with our ankles made of brush. his messy
brown hair. finger in a belt loop.
sitting on a rotting log. squishing black beetles
that ran scared from us. i believed 
we were giant. then, here, taking a handful of sound
& pocketing it. texture of sand. already seeping out.
i didn't want it to be over. i wanted to ask
can we stay this old? can we keep the sound
underneath out tongues? our shoulders touched.
the universe swelled like the truth of balloons.
hummed & hummed. turned our teeth purple
with her singing. shed a star or two 
which fell as piles of light. cast long shadows
of our forms. two boys in the dark. 

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