Something I cooked up in transit. The first two lines were all that remained of a dream I had a few months ago.
I would gladly be devoured by stars,
for we are stars everywhere, and galaxies.
Universes undiscovered by science,
traced by heartlines endless and eternal
stretching out into the future
of human history: A story always told
in loss and lust and love and longing.
And I would gladly be devoured by you,
like how at a star’s small death it glows brightest:
My little universe–subsumed by your
mercurial, your terrible beauty,
your comets and your black holes–
Sings, until the last, in the music of the spheres,
odes to skin and snow and skies and eyes:
To loss, to lust, to love, to longing.