Imagine a fragment of the universe
The layout of galaxies flickering
In the blackness
Swirling, spiralling, in and out of each other
Pulse. Flicker. Pulse.
Here, horizons don’t exist
But we do
Hypnotic
We share more than a name
This must be what it’s like to, just, be
We have encircled each other for far too long
Two clouds of mist, shapeless, formless
Merging, emerging
Conversations, not interacting
Just upending
The contents of these bodies and minds
Of celestial matter they say we are
‘Mass’
Yes, mass, that must be it
The mutual heaviness, the synchronized unloading
Do you feel this
I’d place your gentle hand over my heart
If you were here
Yet we can feel the tides and maelstroms
Raging in us in response
To each other
Do you think the pianists of old could compose a masterpiece so simple?
I doubt.
But it’s us and I love it
I love the sense of echoing quiet when we converse
In abstract fragments but both know
The picture by heart
A picture with a feeling
Of ripples in rivers surging within
Laps of soothing melody
Has it been said before? Sometimes names are magic
I like this feeling, we should talk more often
What are you? Fuck. You’re magic.
Life doesn’t seem so scrambled like eggs right now
Or like constellations dispersed throughout dark ceilings
Flicker. Pulse. Flicker.
Back to stars and galaxies
Things my puny existence does not understand
We should leave science to the scientists and astronauts
And the understanding of us to our explorations
Swirling, spiralling in and out of each other
Namesake.
Names… ache.
We ache together
We wonder, we find
To our explorations
From sloppy kisses to our analogies
Of the fullness and lack of meaning
In the fragile moments of lip-lock stillness
The void they’re invitations to
“Come meet me at the edge and let’s fall together”
We express. We echo.
And so we ache under the burning light of nights
And days, a shadow choreography
Of flickering tangerine
We can dig graves
And our hearts
Be grave robbers
There’s always something to take
From the dead
So we sigh and speak lyrical
We are paintings of our cubist selves
We’re the same picture
Cubism is what it has been
You and I
Identical, cubed, differently arranged
Pulse. Flicker. Pulse.
Namesake,
I love you.
