We're stardust, you and I.
The iron and calcium and magnesium
in the [stars], collide
within and beneath skin and bones;
and I've never felt—saw—myself alone
when I see the galaxy in your eyes.

We're electric, you and I.
The protons and neutrons and electrons
dance and [fade] into a trance
when our lips first sealed;
the first kiss—electric—wrecked on
the idea of bad good-byes.

We're thunderstorms, you and I.
The heat and the pressure and the cold
form tornadoes [slowly], thrashing
the home we built in our hearts;
and I've never felt—myself—more alone,
more paralyzed watching you cry.

We're supernovae, you and I.
The explosions and light and blackness
consume all matter [away], leaving
nothing in our souls—left—nothing
but the stardust in you and I.