We are all planets
wanderers in an
endless waltz
across the canvases
of the cosmos
trying to find the
nearest star to
provide warmth
and light
to support the life
within and
we sometimes get
sunburned and
we sometimes get
frozen
but
the endless vacuum
seems a lot less desperate
when we are in synchronous
orbit with
one another

16 years older
our faces painted over
wasting time to feel the rush
classic self-destruction
still, we are children
older, not different
pretending to be
bigger than the universe
and we are that, we are indeed-

-our facepaint glowing
a multicoloured mixture
in the sunlight now
and our heads are
loosening once again
16 years younger
as clocks chase the future
and we waste our time  
because we still can.

I know you don’t trust me

And I wouldn’t normally either

But for once I am certain in my own emotions

Because I can count the number of poems

I’ve written for anyone else

On a single hand

And yours could fill a novel