when i am alone
i stand firm in myself
like a boulder in the ocean

but when i love
the tide is too strong
and i am too often swept away

why do i try so hard
to formulate my own center of gravity
if i so easily let someone else
become the moon around which i orbit

if i am a planet
with my own biome
why do i let someone else
control the weather

i am growing older
and i cannot flourish
without letting someone else
come along and destroy my garden

My eyes alight softly upon pale velvet waxing
Whose grace is as weightless as a tilting feather
Slowly orbiting between gentle arches
Caressing the space that separates two hearts
And minds locked in a tidal waltz

Waning, my gaze shifts to supple curves
Outlining the crescent shaped body
Which loving light reflects in full
As the beats of my pulse rapidly impact
Scaring the surface with my every rotation
That births a new phase with every rise
Yet sets my sights again upon distant beauty
Teasing the mind to reach out and embrace my muse
Relenting to the gravity ever drawing me nearer
Until we collide in throes of violent passion
Two bodies merging in the fires of love
To become one forever more

Some planets flatten at their rumps.
Some have grown a paunch, and not quite round,
They wander from their orbital bounds.
Ellipses bulge because of lumps.

i am trying to come to terms
with gravity
as i fall toward the floor
with the awareness of the your
face framed in the hall door.
that's an exaggeration—
there's a certain inaccuracy
in conversations about bodies,
personal and celestial, revolutions one around the other,
that is unavoidable due to limitations
of the form. so i like to be precise
where it can fit in between the
cumbersome dances we do.
i'm not falling toward the floor
but i might as well be. i can't tell you that.
what's wrong you ask again
but something i read about planets
is that they're much farther apart than the human mind
can even conceptualize. that most of space is empty
and cold as we dare to spin through it.
i'm thinking of the audacity of revolutions
and you just wanna know why i'm so sad.
i think about bodies. sinew and joints and the red
****** meatstuff that fills in the places in between.
a heart pumping blood and a mouth that refuses to admit it.
about the physicality, the weight of it sinking
into beds that aren't mine, bodies that aren't mine.
you're not standing in the doorway anymore, no one
stands in doorways forever. especially not
for someone who refuses ownership
of the space taken up by their own body. constellations
are outlines of disparate points someone tried to find a
story in. i'm not much better.
i think of heavenly bodies, i think of stars
but they don't tell me anything
i wasn't trying to deal with already.

The rosy-fingered dawn
  bleeds excitation
and atmospheric trails
  for seeking out tomorrow

Are these stars like rain?

  Emitting imagination,
  refracting suggestion?

Perhaps a new art form swimming
about as cloudbursts?

In undulating waves
  war and peace
are colliding out from
  the center of the sun

Could they be
messengers from heaven?

  A signal from God?

Perhaps at magnetic midnight,
four horsemen shall ride?

He must’ve forgotten he called me the moon when our pinkys were intertwined and his smile lived on my lips. How do I say this place revolving your life while a distant planet is not the life I wanted?