You bloom
between galaxies,
a whisper in the dark
where stars go quiet.

I’ve touched you
in the petal’s curl,
in pollen floating
through forgotten light.

You were a flower
growing from meteor stone,
a garden hidden
in the hush of moons.

Each orbit,
I return.
Each bloom,
you wait.

We burned
not out of hatred
but hunger.
Not to vanish
but to become
smoke
in the same wind.

It clings
a velvet fog inside my chest,
sweet with rot,
syrup-slow and
darker than bone.

I dance,
light candles,
run toward the sun
still it hums
like a second heartbeat
that forgot how to stop.

You smiled,
and suddenly,
the night bloomed
softly
as if the stars
had always been flowers.