These rays fall like hope, radiating from solar promise and holding back bleak nights of alone, the fierce dark embrace that presses eyes shut even as they are open, staring at pinhole starlight that careens from hearts light-years in the past, echoing from easy kisses, lust-fueled touch and eager union. What supernova bliss! How it glimmers in the untouchable agonies of now, this spin dirtying prayers for unblemished views into the uncharted lands of tomorrow; destinies hungry as the collection basket at the front pew. God’s witness clings to the story of two forever, but these winking pinpoints flinch and bob behind cloudcover realities, and the obscuring forces of foresight and careful attenuation sting with red-shift intention, exhibiting pasts that cannot possibly be so beautiful but which still stare into the present with hungry glory, eating away at communion wafer beliefs. In symmetry. In belonging. In companionship. Were it as simple as collapsing stars radiating in stellar frenzy, the simple force of gravity enough that rips titanic energies to pieces and yet cannot pull like hearts together on this head of a pin planet. We’ll die alone while in the infinite, suns swooning in their galactic certainty, bleeding light into irredeemable chaos and making dreams seem possible, tangible.
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