our bodies are curled into a chair
built for one as the sun plays havoc
with your eyes like tiny moons
reflecting back the unforgiving light
and you always say you can see
tiny earths in mine so I wonder
if we were made to move around
each other in an orbit to only end
when one of our sickened hearts
forms a supernova and obliterates
an eternity of gentle mornings
when your barren calm directed
the light back toward my tiny
migraine-infected earths
in a way that never hurt only
left an image of your face
burned into my retinas like
permanent proof that the brightest
stars always fade the quickest
and if not the quickest leave
the most to die
in their absence
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