What The Mirror Sees In My Face

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.

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