see, those were just satellites.

so there's no need to hold your breath
for a wish
for just a speck of light, it is
steadily hovering across a cosmos so black
hope only gets to be a dot
a tiny, white dot

its engineering won't do magic, so calm
your frantic heart;
that rocket-fueled heart
those bony fingers, unclasp them
take your sweaty palms away from its praying stance

        and don't chant a dream just yet
        don't blame NASA (or the Soviets), and i'll bet
we will hold hands
for that is not too much too ask
just after we tear apart tonight what appears to be stellar.

your so-called 'chance'
was neither shooting
nor a star

after all

we were just strangers too drunk to get a room;
too drunk to get each other's name;
and above all, too hopeful

          but that we will kill without pausing for air

for the more we scrape ourselves
off of hope,
the stronger we become

and there's no wishing well, not a single star 
(which, by the way, is actually a comet paying visit)
that can preserve or perverse whatever this is

we are not wishing for forever, though

we just wanted to stay where we are

but that seems to be never enough,

simply.

 

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