the proof of living

there's a comet on my forehead

because i fell all too much like a shooting star

and five orbits hadn't dulled the pleasant burn of entering the atmosphere too fast.

there's a black hole on my left knee

because of miscalculated trajectories and an astronaut's refusal to abandon burning ships.

the asteroid between the third and the final joints of my fingers has been worn smooth

where once i picked it raw again and again and

i'm torn between excitement and disbelief that one of the few marks left by you is fading