They say matter cannot be created or destroyed,
That we're all made of stardust,
The distant echo of ten thousand supernovae reanimated into clay figurines,
Powered by pulsating hearts that were once the cores of distant suns,
And dearest darling, you must be the most breathtaking symphony of the cosmos ever woven by God's hand.
When it all burns away, when we choke ourselves to death on microplastics and smog,
And our corpses lay in the ashes of an empire,
When the Sun dies and the Earth crumbles to pieces,
I can only hope for the honor of our clay husks being obliterated by the same asteroid,
Sprinkled among the same galaxy.
Stardust again,
The residue of my heart flickering with yours,
Forever burning.