The milky way doesn’t know
of its own existence,
a cat doesn’t know of the sentience
we’ve given it. In almost the same way,
we don’t know who we are.
We are opinion, and opinion is relative
My magnificence isn’t relevant to you.
I’m something to admire from a distance--
apparently too chaotic
to see all the details up close.

I don’t remember what I thought of you
when we first met; all I know is
I like holding your hand
whether I want to or not.
Interpret that you want.

Your eyes are like supernovas
When certain lights hit them
Once they caught my attention.
I was a photographer for the National Geographic
capturing a solar eclipse, a comet, a meteor shower
every time you talked about something you loved.
An ash cloud from an excited volcano,
your eyes made a natural disaster of my heart.
Except, well,
it turns out everybody’s eyes are like that.