Here I lie -
One vulnerable ear
to the marble silk of galaxies.
Even though
Your figure is an act
of miracle meteors
raining on the soft,
shocked retina,
the valleys
between your eyes and mouth
a dazzling constellation,
Your lullaby voice
a play of centered orbits
carved around me,
Even though the slow breath of you
is the many pulsing
gases, bright beyond
the fire of any human glint,
I am, firstly,
a sacred satellite
for the cosmic murmurs
of something grander.