i wanted to compare you to the stars,
as i always have done,
and as i likely always will.
i wanted to describe the black hole of your pupils, the event horizon of your irises
and how on the other side of a black hole there is
(theoretically)
a white hole,
spitting things out as soon as they’re ****** in.
it’s true that you draw me in, you push me out, the cycle repeating:
wash, rinse, repeat.
it’s true that gravity drags me forward every time,
falling through your eyes
and even though i can articulate why you’re my europa, my solace, my escape from the devastating edge of the sun --
aren’t astronomy metaphors getting old?
you deserve so much more than that.

And so, back to the drawing board I go.