Falling in love wasn’t linear.
It came in swells, nebulous waves; each
time one fell in love, the orbit changed.
We were never written in fate; we were
scrawled in rooms imbued in dark, perfectly
absorbed in condemned gravity, tangling our
bodies so heavy with sleep, I can still feel the
weight on me.
It lives in blood cells, cosmically infused.
Oh, astronomical chaos that was you.
But a star that burns too bright insists on it’s
own catastrophic destruction.
Ill-fated, merciless stellar collision.
We spiral inward, leaving behind galaxies and stars in ecliptic dissonance.
I look back at the abendrot sky we left scarred,
fading into the glow of dying embers,
a faint and spectral spark,
only to be seen by those who look deep
enough
in the dark.