Platonics

There are too many stars in the sky
As she holds my icy hand.
The world is dark and frozen,
It looks beautiful from here.
She stoops to itch her leg
And I simultaneously struggle
To find a way to tell her
That I know
I will never see her again,
And that I love her.
Silence, still.
I will let it seep between us
And her silence
Can be instead interpreted
As some kind of reciprocity.
We look up:
Space is a salvo.
A thousand stars quietly roar and burn above us
As we inadequately try to express
All that has passed between us.
But our real goodbyes have already been said,
When she took the glove she was chewing
From her mouth
And held my hand.
I knew because I could hear the stars burn.