A park bench, and
A yellow orb nukes its core
a million times per second in space.
Somewhere, a man spoke his last word,
Or an infant giggled at her father’s scruff.
A black hole light-years away
engulfed another black hole of lesser mass;
the surrounding planets spaghettified.
Yes, this park bench is.
And you,
sit there with a leg over mine.
Wrinkles on your iris orbit a black hole,
visible because of our star.
It's just you and I,
sitting on a bench.

There’s something sitting on my brain.
Something disconnected.
No current. No spark.

My eyes are rolling loose in their sockets.
My voice sounds like it’s
on the other side of a wall.

I didn’t want to leave the house,
but the sun reached through the window
and coaxed me out.

Then, a brown-haired woman
with crystal eyes and porcelain cheeks
walked by,
and I caught the soft pull of her
flowery, spring-scented perfume.

It was cherries,
and my love,
and everything good.
It was honey.
It was holding my mother’s hand to cross the street.