The moon could have collapsed from the sky, Shattered like a vase of cremains Absorbed by the dense wet Earth, And we would have waited to regret afterwards.
You killed my youth at your kiss of my lips when I envisioned planets colliding and Vibrant supernovas ensuing. Maybe they’re all the same thing, or
Maybe I just didn’t know you well enough, like The mineral of your curious teeth nibbling My untouched neck.
Every sense, at our age, is cosmic: Foreign and sweet, and
The lunar desire in your eyes was Something to pine after; your hand caressing My cratered, teenage-bumped face.
The breeze of your femininity had crept Into my lonely orbit like a satellite snapshotting a Pluto sunset, and
When we’re young, it’s much harder to forget Those who kissed us, because if our
Memories are undersized stars, then your kiss Was a comet or a meteorite or something celestial like that.