poem to follow

This evening I had a poem in my head as I walked home looking at the stars, a rare glimpse of my past life out of Portland.  I don't remember my legs moving but I remember feeling my breath slip cold in and out of my lips.  And it's strange to feel a color, but you know what it means when I say I could feel the pink of my cheeks?  With the ingredients of cereal slung over my shoulder, my excuse for being outside, I walked and thought my life isn't so bad.  I decided that someday I will have a million stars and the blackest sky in my front yard.  I will stand outside and look up at them past the point of tranquil giddy dizziness when I get home late.  My family will be asleep inside and I will breathe in how lucky I am.  Crisp happiness will slide over my lips and fall slowly down my throat.  And when I have had my swallow full of what I've been through to get here I will grab the door with a tingly bare hand and go inside, to where the subject of my poem is waiting for me.

But for now, over the crashing and bumping of my roommates in the city, I can't remember how the poem went.