Cymbals

In sleep, I dream of it

again and again, within every hushed breath,

I dream of it

to unlatch my head and let it fall into your hands

freedom of ignorance 

blissfully, 

pulsating— 

riveting bursts of star-hungry energy, glistening down,

rain scented shards of your soul

body,

mind

to douse my head in rebirth

feigned devotion,

clearing the space between my eyes of 

everything; your nothing, my everything

soaked fresh with the birth of moons and supernovas 

crystal clear mind of ours 

Head falling to the ground like clashing cymbals,

Skittering along my skin, pin-pricked and exceedingly sharp 

Obliterating our house of glass

Thundering down,

 hail of truth

Fumes of stardust sticking to our lungs

My head screws back on

Nails and coffins, or something of the sort

I think you felt it then, 

when reaching into each other like phases of the moon

My crystalline tears shattering into the nape of your neck

Eyelashes pressing into a spot you'll never see

Folded into ourselves, grasping bodies like 

celestial fraying

Nothing but daydreams of swallowing a star