the moon looks like god's got a hangnail again

We counted our freckles in the pale lamplight

Comparing ourselves in the blanket of the night

We came to the conclusion that the sun was trying to pinpoint us and strike us down.

But we still stand, protected by the privacy that these backrooms offer

We found constellations in our skin

And together we formed the skies

We ignored the questions that pummeled to the top of our minds

and held each other in this silence

Joined by the company of the lonely stars.