Black Holes and Beauty Marks • Alec Baenen

How am I supposed to convince myself that we are destined to be strangers while I see galaxies dripping from the marrow in your ribs?

You are overripe with existence

Your thumbs tearing dimensions through my chest

Painting each laceration with constellations

While they twiddle in celestial bouts of divinity from under your desk

Seeping into my cartilage and pushing my joints aside

You grind my bones to paste

As I limp through the bottomless caverns of your eye sockets

I can’t hear you dear

Every particle in your stardust body is gathered in your craned neck

A nebula ripping through your tonsils

Voice creaking through the floorboards of my spine as you tiptoe across my vertebrae like a staircase to the heavens

And as you look skyward

I see the desperation in your eyes

How small you feel compared to the universe

I can tell because I am stargazing at you

With those same yearning eyes

Only I cannot seem fathom

How small the universe feels compared to you

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