in how many ways can
the same thing be said?: when
your eyes first met mine, all
stars in all skies skipped but a
single heartbeat. inside my
own, winter called it quits and
frozen garden water crept in
tiny rivulets out from
solidified arteries. and i,
collecting all misplaced
palpitations like specks of
blue from an afternoon,
unfolding, watched the sun
set on an endless standstill to
let just one night trickle
through. one chorus of stars
was all it took. one million
lifetimes. a million millions,
intertwined.
                     all pages in all
universes could not even hold
the first word of my essay
upon the ways one heartbeat,
one simple glance, could
move each celestial body two
inches to the right, save you
and i.