I See You As A God / At The Crossroads Burning Your Secrets For Lamplight.

scientists fear

with a hand on the window frame, you looked out at the night sky. & turning your head toward me, you said there was this theory about the universe being ever e   x      p        a           n             d                i                  n                     g.

that every star, planet, galaxy & blackhole currently alive, is endlessly drifting apart from it all.

as though in their hovering for distance, in their majestic swaying through stellar matter, every atom of the universe claimed independence from our shared existence.  

that same night our last the spellbinding vibes in your beauty & that rant over the cosmos, walked me into a laberynth of oblivion; cause what i forgot to tell you & what you didn't seem to know, was that there is another theory out there: an antithesis on the dynamics of the universe.

scientists suspect the universe will eventually stop its expansion to begin its c o n t r a c t i o n. exactly as the ball vertically thrown to reach the sky, that at a certain height surrenders to gravity & starts its way down.

scientists fear that every star & planet & galaxy & blackhole will shrink into a single spot in place & time.   a sort of big bang in reverse. outside going in.

boom

which is to say: you fled away from me to smash piece by piece the things we had built. i guess in some shape or form we mimicked the universe by drifting away from each other; by sitting on opposite edges of this galaxy; dodging our own asteroids; breathing distant stardust & riding comets that might never cross paths.  

imagine, just imagine that these scientists' fear comes true   & all we know to exist begins to compress; will the universe then bring us back to where we were?

a massive clash. gallactic friction.

cosmos to cosmos, blackhole to blackhole, planet to planet, & lips to lips.

hey, this might just be the universe reminding us that       we are destined to collide.

- @skinthepoet

part of scientists fear is inspired on a story my neighbor told me about this boy she used to date. last nite i gave her a copy of my new zine & just got a text from her saying that particular poem was her fav. poetry whispers names and memories to people.  

Tell him, only say my name if you can swallow it dead.

Kristin Chang, from “In the Dead of Spring,” published in Vagabond City (via lifeinpoetry)

damn

It occurred to me last night, while the moon cried for Xanax, how maybe if I focused hard enough for the right amount of time, I might learn to accept the fragments you left. Perhaps one of these tomorrows will find me walking into the ghosts of you the way I now walk into that cold Parisian rain: compliant and composed, unbothered despite every pore on this skin that clothes my bones begging me to bathe under the fires of the sun.

Jezzini (Parisian Rain on Orbit(X))

Puerto Vallarta, MX.

Let me be young & disrespectful. Let me leave my plate an unfinished slaughter. Let me spend & eat until I, & no one else, says I’m done.

— Fatimah Asghar, from “Look, I’m Not Good At Eating Chicken,” published in The Rumpus