Deep brown galaxies with black holes in the center of each,
ensconced in hollowed out pearls
on display behind glass cases.
Below the exhibition,
soft petals painted navy and plum
by the sleepless nights
with their brushes.
Coffee colored velvet
speckled with scars from insecurities
and delicate kisses
from the sun.
Small pink cave
chapped and cracked, with blisters inside
thoughts racing like comets
as the darkness approaches.
But still, the stars have not lost their fire,
perpetually shining light,
blinking from across the galaxy,
waiting for some sort of sign.
I see them twinkle from the distant black holes.
They are blinking back at me.