We walked
Outside to a cold winter night
Sky
To smoke
One last cigarette
You softly cried
I knew why.
We found Orion
Winter high
In the Eastern sky.

There is a dark spot
Within his belt
Thought forever dark
But actually a path
To the ancient ancestors
Of galaxies past
Whose light began
Long before
Our sun and earth and moon
Were born.

We smoked our cigarette
Wondered about it all
As we always had.
And on this night of farewell
And cold clear winter skies
Orion and it all
The only enormity
Matched
Was this moment of our love
And
Our last goodbye.

You will not be meeting me
at the train station,
wearing nothing but a sundress and
the warm scents of
wet desire rising as
a lustful fog
from your steaming forest,
anytime soon.

The heat would **** the sun.

I will not be showing up
on your doorstep,
rigid and pulsing
with the blood of
centuries coursing through
my thick roots,
in the nearest future.

The pressure would crush the moon.

Instead,
I swim in your teacup
and warm baths
while you roam in
the smoke at the edge
of my shadow.

I feel your soft whispers
across the ocean of time
as they float on broken
spiderwebs of memory.

Our love is in the words
between the worlds;
resting in the
wet soil of
an afternoon nap,
we bloom as one.

As the fire of night
descends, destroying
the boundaries of time
and space,
we transcend all that
is cold and unforgiving,
leaving behind only
echos of wanting.