Brown By Daphne Hall


No, moons of honey—dusted with gold.
They sit comfortably behind the
curtain of eyelashes no
man is ever grateful

The constellations across his face,
etch his back,
join at the shoulders,
trickle down his arms
to his finger

There is a lone star. It rests
on the top of his lip.
My gaze catches
his pull. We

They connect as if
our love is a telescope,
brushing up against the sky.
I am Galileo, he is

Through phases of eccen-
tricity, we everlast.

By Daphne Hall


I am an aspiring educator, partial to my cat Gwen, thrive in melodrama and am a recovering Baptist. I am currently attending University of North Florida for my bachelor’s degree in English with a dash of Creative Writing and Social Welfare.

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