I inhale the galaxy,
fingers tracing rings of Saturn in the haze.
Smoke swirls like comets,
dancing in the vacuum of my chest.
The moon hums in careless whispers,
and I orbit thoughts I’ve never named.
Stars pulse in the rhythm of my heartbeat,
each exhale a nebula expanding slow.
Time bends like smoke in the air,
minutes folding into constellations.
I ride the Milky Way in a cloud of my own making,
lost and found in the infinite high.
©️EarthBranch
Jan 21
Jan 21, 2026 at 9:17 PM UTC
I inhale the galaxy,
fingers tracing rings of Saturn in the haze.
Smoke swirls like comets,
dancing in the vacuum of my chest.
The moon hums in careless whispers,
and I orbit thoughts I’ve never named.
Stars pulse in the rhythm of my heartbeat,
each exhale a nebula expanding slow.
Time bends like smoke in the air,
minutes folding into constellations.
I ride the Milky Way in a cloud of my own making,
lost and found in the infinite high.
©️EarthBranch
The poem captures an intimate, floating moment where inhalation becomes a journey through space. Smoke transforms into galaxies, time loosens its grip, and the speaker drifts between losing themselves and finding presence. Its about expansion, altered perception, and the quiet awe of feeling infinite inside ones own body.
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