Slow dance with me through the apocalypse of space,
in which our words are mercurial.
toxicity is fed to my lungs
by your homemade oxygen,
as if my face of candere
is truly reaching out it’s hands
to find serenity in
swirls of mahogany tables.
and you are just looking for
a lost fluidity of soul.
transform yourself into calico;
so i can create a lucid dream
just. once. more.

let’s fuse up like aurora Borealis,
expand our cryptic galaxies
so all eyes can be on us.
radiate with acidic moon rays
when the incense rises;
already set for retrograde.
"Let’s explore satori".
you said. "but what if
your oxygen is cataclysmic?"
i whispered in a hushed tone.
being the antagonist
was bizarre to me at first.
but then i replied,
"i guess somewhere
is better than nowhere.
because i found you
when i couldn’t find myself".