Constellation
sometimes people write poems
about fire that are really
about lovemaking
and sometimes people get
sunburned while swimming
because they think
they should’ve felt the heat
as a kid I liked to press
my hand against sheets
of paper and trace my fingers
to draw little stars
it’s true that I call you
an old flame even though
I still reach
across the dark
at night when you turned on
my street I could see
the lit trail
of your cigarette sparks
you would say let’s just see
where things lead
then my body would
become a satellite or stream
the way the sun beams
off the face of the moon
as they rotate apart
one time I curved
my hands together in arcs
and you held up your fist saying no
this is the heart
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