The parallel lines of her specter-like eyes
rise from the misty spires of the past
like two spikes in a spectrograph.
As the mind sails through three dimensional space
time’s boomerang batters its latest victim
with faint tendrils of yearning.
are left stranded on salty islands of velvet,
ever awaiting the devouring tongue,
ever awaiting the hungry singularities of separation
that feast like fungi upon splintered memories.
If matter obediently circles
like water down a drain,
then love lost grips like the gnarled arms
of five-thousand-year old trees,
Whistling to overcome the hum of decay
we recklessly ascend burnt treetops
while trying to ensnare and topple
the night moon’s sunlit face.
Yet our heart-shaped clouds
of enslaved matter always
slide helplessly into the event horizon.
And even the atoms in a kiss never really touch,
but are simply squashed against the writhing boundaries
of two parallel magnetic fields.
Deep within the swirling eyes of Jupiter
broken rainbows of epiphany disintegrate
into scintillating droplets of helium- and neon-laced rain.