asteria (“etched in the stars”)

will i find your worries between ursa major and her daughter? or are your devils buried beneath limelight quasars, letting nostopathy clog your pores, your stars, your scars?

a portrait, a painting, a mirror:

asteria, my aubade is for you, your prophecies are mine

the villanelles, artisan, aged, sleep on silk against casseopeia’s breastbone

cassette tapes: soundtracks of tourniquets, playlists that you cauterize beneath

the stab wounds that starlight inflicts,

major and minor, may your anguish whistle to the meteors

and incinerate against your luminescent physique

cartilage, visceral, wrapped in infinity’s inky cloak /

interstellar corpses stranded in a comet copse

rest your head as the universe picks at your scalp,

etching her sinister truths into your skin and beyond /

asteria, hold your necromantic repertoire close

or fade against the nebulae, the stars overtaking you at last.