i am a sentimental physicist. observing the gravity of emotion. noting the subtle lensing of light, as it filters passed you and distorts my star weary eyes. i must crunch the equations & check them twice before i don aluminum, endure your endless cold, & shoot for your moon.• ○.
⁂⁖ . the mass effect of you consumes. hypothesis: your spirit’s path is visible light, racing towards a cosmic wall; to decorate galactic sky as microwave impressionism. •°.
. to make sense of your dark, i spend my nights measuring boundless black matter that surrounds us. enraptured by the scented skyline prophesying: jet propulsion, serenaded, and lemonade rainfall; Armageddon upon another acid planet. your pain upon the reaches still unpinned by travelled telescopes; dying technologies making me jealous of all the places where the universe sees the parts of you i am physically incapable of being. ° •.
⁖⁕ . as love moves in ellipticals it eclipses my heart, eventually. always, the awe never ceases to inspire me. invokes my muse. devote my life to translating the beauty of its euphoria into the English vernacular. ceaselessly. to release the burden of it’s memory like the sun burned into my retinas. i compose & compute each intangible equation. nuance comprises itself onto endless notations. converting numbers, filtered through my limbic system, into colloquial prose. closest words to illustration, as my cerebellum can surmise. • . •°.
•. code the sentences unto my poems; my theories of everything. presenting my poetry to everyone as my thesis. phantoms obsessing my mind my only tangible evidence. am i still the only person who can see how perfect we are? the only person who sees our future written in the stars?