The birth of the universe started here.
Here at the palm of your hands, when my atoms sat across yours.

Though there is a speculation that the sensation we feel is purely imagined, it adds weight to our existence.

Though, that might be due to gravity too.

But, yes the whole thing unfolded here. Where the swan began their dance, and the sun tangoed with the darkness, and the senseless chaos erupting inside a car like a chin to unexpected southpaw.

This is where sulking cherubs gaze at midnight ceiling hoping that a pair of groggy eyes will rise in their horizon and swoop them up. They chuckled found their universe in your palms. They were manufactured like chocolate is manufactured—devilishly sweet.

Here too, were first steps, first nights when glass hearts were shattered, and mended back in place with a pat a shoulder and rub in the back.

But this is where the big bang happened, where the big dipper was a four leaf clover. We got by.

The sun has always sat in our hands. Rising and setting there, until our lands have shriveled.
Here, where arthritis pills were by-products of dreams colliding with reality.

Here where eighteen meant taking a shot and starting their own solar system.

When the clock is being peevish, it does so with a thump. Hunger is heard from the bang on the glass, Hungry for moments.

Glad our universe started the way it did. Past the line, and beyond it, we don’t know, perhaps the point of no return, but here where it all began love will always endure.