we skipped over the crack of dawn, whispering
about trivialities and the span of your arms; how
they held me like a dandelion seed holds desire.
lover: once, amidst a hurricane of blind love and inexplicable anger,
i rushed down the highway like a bullet from the loaded gun of
irrationality at 100 miles per hour. i was headed toward the tail-end
of the first semi-truck i could find. your arms became my seatbelt,
fastening themselves around my waist like loyalty. i startled myself
out of disillusion and drove back home.
under the bite of a lone lamppost, everything goes sour.
my mouth no longer moves with purpose or joy. instead,
i catch myself wondering when my bones will stop striking
neptune's surface, creating more cracks for us to skip over.
i told you,
lover: i am a soldier. i barricade myself with rusty metal,
scatter moon dust with the brush of my fingers. neptune
is 30,600 miles in diameter but i will crawl it on my hands
and knees until we reach forever.
we didn't plan on a meteor shower.
there are more cracks than we can count, too many to skip over.
we left the universe a shipwreck, a disarray of stardust and knocked orbits.
neptune’s depths are still undiscovered.