Stars

I see them.
They look like crayons.
Blue is my favorite.
Red makes me envy
all the rest.
I can be close to you, my love.
But the consequences
are devastating.
If you see me
"tipping the velvet"
when I ask to dream about those
stars on TV
maybe surround me
and collapse with my ghost
against my aging thigh.
Deep inside me,
I want to make a regular
appointment to know
you at dawn,
so when I look up to the
stars in heaven on a night
before our meeting face-to-face
eternally
I would be wearing gabardine.