She had the moon atop palm,
and “righty” in her pocket,
leaving me to wonder which
heavenly body she’d present
next.
This goddess, “gravity,” if
she’d a name, played physics
with my parts, and persuaded
thrice an orbit, circles wherein
the same hopes quantized –
“We’re we born of the same
star? Please? And when again,
can we burn brightly? Soon?”
She’d reply, and echo come
frigid a comet’s tail, leaving.
So you’d know tonight as
you’d twice before; I’d sip my
beer before you. I’d cry before
you. And a’parallel, tease your
moon atop my very own palm.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
She had the moon atop palm,
and “righty” in her pocket,
leaving me to wonder which
heavenly body she’d present
next.
This goddess, “gravity,” if
she’d a name, played physics
with my parts, and persuaded
thrice an orbit, circles wherein
the same hopes quantized –
“We’re we born of the same
star? Please? And when again,
can we burn brightly? Soon?”
She’d reply, and echo come
frigid a comet’s tail, leaving.
So you’d know tonight as
you’d twice before; I’d sip my
beer before you. I’d cry before
you. And a’parallel, tease your
moon atop my very own palm.
I never knew that my one of my best friends from high school was in love with me; all apologies, my dear Karelia.
