she is archipelagos of stars on an inky black background.
moondust and star stuff,
supernovae and blue cosmic beauty.
she is the beginning and the end,
first places prize and last places hope.
she begins simply and quietly like a match and flame,
slowly burning my existence until I am molten,
like lava in her hands to mold into beautiful shapes.
as tenaciously as she handles me she burns brightly,
and in her eyes I know she sees me the same way.
she sees me as if I am sunsets and smatterings of stars
as if I breathed out cosmic dust
and inhaled the sins of the world.
as if I, myself, could singlehandedly
create beautiful islands of stars in the sky
simply with just a snap of my fingers.
she was like starstuff in my lungs,
a smokescreen of explosive stardust in my chest.
she looked so gorgeous yet was as deadly as mustard gas.
i breathed her in though,
because its what i thought i needed,
a moonlit puff of smoke in the cosmos
as beautiful as an eclipse and as deadly as the love of Venus herself.
she doesn't know just how much i feel
even though i know her feelings exactly.
her starstuff and moondust was never meant to be in my lungs
not on earth nor with my very existence.
why does watching dangerous supernovae closely feel so right?