Did she really exist or are the photographs
reflections of my imagination? My eye for
detail is amazing. I can see things that
Like that barrage of comets that fell from her
eyes like cold failed stars, littering her pupils.
It’s all space and distance, light years that
only the rarest of love can cover.
Those electrified kites that we flew in
the charging sky, among the slightly
inebriated clouds. The tails lit the night’s
darkness like confetti from falling angels.
Yes, angels fall too, like minor suns that
rust among the ruins of the galaxy. Their
aching wings flicker and flutter before they
spiral down the axis of our little souls.
We got lost on the porch while crows
filled their beaks with fireflies, like tiny
lanterns. I wrote you a note on a torn
piece of your paper dress before I sailed.
When I awoke among the waves, I found your
memory in a stolen book of photographs and
constellations. Painted stars lined the dusty
pages while your image faded into a black hole
that no heart can ever fill.