Starlight-spined, cast me in art.

My shoulders the curve of

cassiopeia, a waist wrapped in Orion's belt, and

fingers full of Saturn's rings.

Aren't we all such

lovely spacey people?

Isn't it pretty how I bleed black tar out my

veins? How my teeth look

imprinted red in your neck? How these

crystal tears of jealousy smudge the edges of my face,

make them run into one another--

nose three-fourths down my chin, balancing upon an eye

rolling down the corner

of a lip?

Are you on your knees begging for another shot

while I down my own to wipe your face off my windshield

before I crash the car?

We're not headed for stars, we've got

oblivion stenciled on every stop sign we

blow past.