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so high are the stars,
and so far from my grasp
but if I could. . .
(if only I could!)
I'd hold fast till my hand melted. . .

I'd reach above your head,
(across the skies reflected in your pupils)
to find that star with your name on it,
and place it beneath my tounge

I'd bleed into an ashtray,
and mix it with the cigarette cinders,
and spread it across my eyes,
only to wash it away
(along with my sight).

- posted by Jonathan@ 6:52 PM