i’ve stargazed strictly at jupiter
nearly every night this week
while i rolled cigarettes to smoke
on a rooftop.
the brightest star in the night sky
is a dull planet.
but dull is my wall, yet it lights
up quite well with a flashlight
directed at it.
and so do you, with the flashlight
of my utmost melancholic
romanticism; you shine so bright
like a truth.
but in truth you’re dim, whilst
in darkness, you’re a flipping spotlight.