Shooting Stars

I don’t wish upon shooting stars anymore. They are just my dreams dying out and falling one by one from your eyes. I have left my longing lounging poolside in the shadow of your tongue where the hollow drumbeat of unspoken words slowly causes me to come undone. Time has no meaning anymore. It is just endless daze, blurry haze, and a never-ending run from broken thoughts nipping at feet in the race to trip stumbling words up side down. Sleep is no comfort anymore. I lay curled up fetal-like in the shadow of your shoes, my heart stopped, breath caught in a web of waiting for the inevitable drop. Shoes, clocks, stars… Everything eventually falls. All there is is the baiting and inevitable waiting for you to come home awash in the whispers stars make just before death. Gravity calls.