It may be that you were an astronaut before
And now you clamber unknown chambers of my heart,
Knocking down the tilt-up walls
To find the inner space of your reservoir
And your oxygen; my bloodstream
My heart; your pulsar beating out cosmic revelations
My future; framed by your unblinking past

Terminal comets tumble alongside
Undisturbing of the velocity of your experiment
Exploding suns in supernovae spin-cycles
Left your scientific mood untouched
The last horizon, my need for security
Has been hitched to your superior fuselage
Now we float together, at the end of a single lifeline

I breathe out as you breathe in
A symbiotic bellows, in perfection geared
Neither of us make a move
Except we go in the same instant of direction
This must be what heaven feels like
At the end of time and acceleration,
Facing the unknowns inherent in the expedition

There were never any promises made,
Discovering the wonders and terrors of deep space
And at the finish of my hibernation,
I awaken to explore a mysterious new portal:
Held open for me, an orbital doorway
In galactic eyes of bluest heaven-shine
Which will stir the primordial chaos of my existence.

you travel alone sometimes, to distant stars, to the distant future
you go where you're needed but not where you're wanted
delicately walking, your presence undisturbing of the dirt below you

you make the greatest impact to yourself only
an observer, a thinker
trying to make things slightly brighter

I'm scared to be alone sometimes, and selfish too
I go where I'm wanted but not where I'm needed
and I pick blossoms off of trees and put them in my hair
and I leave footprints in the mud

your need to be alone is fascinating, taking in sights, colors, sounds, smells,
with no one to share it with

I admire your strength and willpower, you admire my desires and the flowers in my hair

I hope once you reach new lands, where the ground is softer and the trees glisten in the light of their star,
you think to yourself,

"she would like it here."

And at times I questioned, I questioned when life would be enough. when the need threatening to blow over within a person would cease and instead reduce to an undisturbing simmer.
I questioned when the blood, although unseen until a cut would be enough to rest ones mind and scatter ones fears
I questioned when the tears that build up quietly would be enough, enough to assure that your worries and not useless and they exist beyond the realm you have become accustomed to.

I have questioned yet I have received no answer.

Perhaps it is in quietness and subtlety of realization that transformation may work its way under the skin, and settle in and into, and become a part of being. That stretching, yawning idea that one sees as fact without ever having greeted it before, yet may respect as if it were so intrinsic to their day to day life as to be unnoticeable. Existential crisis may send the mind spiraling and gripping at open air as one’s very soul plunges into empty abyss, thereto disintegrate; but existential connection is so integrated and undisturbing that we may grow alongside our ignorance, and befriend it. Rather than lose ourselves, we might find we were there under our own noses, and shrug or laugh at the foolishness of seeking in darkness what was always exposed in the light.

She would paint on a solemn face
to walk undisturbing into your world
of silver towers and streets of marble white,
yet in mine she could wear a clean sight.

She would file down her fangs
to whisper sweetness within your halls
of opulence and feigned delight,
yet in mine she'd bare them in starlight.

She would shut close her lilac eyes
to fool herself into seeing just the veneer
and not the rot beneath your noble court,
yet in mine she'd see the beauty in the dirt.

She would smother herself in lace
to blend in with the specters that lurk
within you entourage of pomp and nightmare,
yet in mine she could run naked without care.

She would drown her voice in vile liquor
to hold her soul from flying away in spite
from all that you've done in her name,
yet with me she would drink in the sky-flame.

She would be loved.
Her voice would soar.
No paint on her face.
No more.