The Stars

my eyes aren't that sharp so it's hard to see the stars,
but i think i can smell them from way down here
like i'm not way down here, but right next to them,
floating in the galaxy, floating like them.
i think they smell something like the trees
that border the edges of my vision,
and maybe like the rain i still feel in the air
that i want to soak and cleanse me through.

it's hard to see the small sparkles in the sky,
but i think i know how they sound;
the graceful dinging of a windchime,
whooshing of tires through puddles,
raindrops on my roof and on the road.
they speak to me and tell me the things i want to hear;
stars tell me i don't belong here,
i won't have to stay here much longer.

i really have bad vision, really can't see well,
but i know that it's a lie that stars are made of fire.
i know that if i ever got to hug one,
it'd be like hugging a cool metal ball,
but comfortable like hugging a friend.
i'd place my cheek against the star;
my wrists pressed to it, it would pulse with my heartbeat
as if i held my beating heart in my hand.