Soon
my dear sweet
broken child.
No maybes,
But soon.
The universe likes to cup you in its hand.
A firefly caught
too easily
in the dusk
between solar systems.
Wrap yourself in the black
and starry comforter
and suckle on all
those broken promises
and unreturned phone calls.
You can't get too far
without someone
cupping you.
But don't expect any dinner invitations.
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