How to Not Know

i am picking up stars
of crushed velvet and space dust
to set gently on iridescent eyelids
because nothing is too good
for you,
sweetheart.
how would rainy bust stops feel
if you didn't know the destination
and your footsteps were glass-on-grass
like a lightning storm?
you are a function,
variables of an artist
but i love you still--
hearts are not streetlights,
darling.