The mouths of the stars

The mouths of the stars

The mouths of the stars

It’s burning and it’s brittle,
this strange and little thing of ours;
Sometimes I see the wings of the sun,
then the gaping mouths of the stars,
And can I help it,
if I can’t stop dreaming of you?

I wish you would lay down
beside me, in the weightless cradle
of the night, and speak only
to accent the silence that shivers
between wrong and right,
But the moment you arrive,
you have long begun to depart;
The earth hides his face
while the moon bares her heart.

I don’t want to hurt you.
I never mean to cause you harm.
The bullets have barely begun to fly
when the people cry to disarm
because they know it’s all a dreadful mistake,
they know the cost of war.
It’s the same old graffitied story;
crude warnings on creaking doors.

It’s burning and it’s brittle,
this strange and little thing of ours;
Sometimes I see the wings of the sun,
then the gaping mouths of the stars,
And can I help it,
if I can’t stop dreaming of you?

There is no salvation in the sky
as sure as the salvation in the soil,
And there is no temptation
as wild as that wrought by distance.
There’s a world to taste and a world to spoil,
an ocean of time between us,
still you make me feel like me.

You make me feel like me.

The mountains are rugged,
but someday they will slide
to the sand beneath the skylit windows
where lovers write simple lullabies
and children close their eyes to dream.
And that’s all right with me, I guess,
if that’s how it’s meant to be.

It’s burning and it’s brittle,
this strange and little thing of ours;
Sometimes I see the wings of the sun,
then the gaping mouths of the stars,
And can I help it,
if I can’t stop dreaming of you?

About Louise

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