A woman: the moon to a man’s sun, seen only
as far as the man can control her orbit with his gravity
and cast a shadow on her dark side.
Your trauma: the silence between stars.
A snowflake on the tip of a finger,
melted before anyone else knows it’s there.
A man’s sadness: reduced to fists curling like a comet’s tail.
Watch him scatter stars across your cheek.
Pretend there’s beauty in being loved so hard it bruises.
Feed him tears until the night sky pours from his mouth.