The Way the Heavens Move

I breathe out, like sighs
and rusty wind chimes, releasing
invisible vibrations with a message that says-

hey, I love you.

what if the moon was closer? how
would that change the movement
of the seas and could it
carry the heavy mass of water
over the continents

or maybe just over my eyes and
would it change the stars to see the moon
eating up more of the
fading horizon,
I wonder.


the carbon dioxide tang on my breath is
the footprint of my atrophied heart, walking
down my tongue and throat to rest
in my solemn rib cage; and even
his sleepy rhythm spells out your name
like a prayer.

trembling on the ends of strings,
he writes his message on my internal walls in blood-

hey, I love you.

does it even matter how bright
the moonlight is if we are spinning out into the darkness
tossed like celestial dice and has

the moon turned her face away because she knows that
we are all endlessly falling into light's
cavernous absence, churning the thoughts
in my stomach.


fingerprints mark my skin; you feel
it trembling, holding me inside.
at night it groans like aching door hinges,
waiting to purge me from within and finally
become empty.

my skin won't lie, and you know that
I want to leave that house,
or collapse into a black
hole, yet I don't and when I touch you my blood screams out the reason why-

hey, I love you.