Moon Dusted Nights
We are the stargazers.
The wonderers of why.
Why do we exist in moon dusted nights?
To dance under purple-pink galaxies
our feet planted firmly in dirt,
your hands gripping mine. We spin in circles
until the universe is blurred,
fall apart to the grass
the spaces between the stars wide,
wide-eyed I reach up and grasp—
Grasping, I bring down Saturn’s frost-rings.
They’re hula-hoops for you and I.
Originally published at JessicaSita.com.