NaPoWriMo - 4.7.13 - Seven

Heavy hearts hold
burnt out stars deep
in their belly, laboring
hope in their hips,
desiring to birth blinding
light from their eyes.

As a little girl, I used to wish
that I could mother the skies
and protect the stems of dying
light on the edge of my lips.
Now I wander endlessly
through the dark with you
until you're ready shed some light.

We'll wait quietly
in the belly of the moon
for your heart to crown
dusty death throes of
dimming supernova
remnants, pushing
through the edge of your lips
to land on my awaiting hands.