Galaxies …

Uninspired, I seek your body in the dark and find you naked and on your belly.  The wooden slats in the shutters paint moonbeams across your back in a bar-code of light.  Each panel of your skin holds a splatter of freckles and birthmarks like paint specks and tiny suns.  I imagine you being the blueprint for the galaxy.  The Creator placing bits of glitter onto a sheet of velvet, held between the sparkling prongs of a pair of tweezers.  A moving map whose print doesn’t run in the rain.  I watch the shifting of moonlight until it becomes dawn’s sun, soaking the golden glow of you in and feeling a new born inspiration vibrating in my muscles.  I slip out the back door as you begin to stir, hear you moan.  I think that it must be awful heavy, to have the whole universe draped across the expanse of your shoulders, and I wonder how your bones bear the weight.

2 thoughts on “Galaxies …

  1. I can’t even articulate how much I love this and you. I have never even been associated with anyone as incredible Bia. Thank you so much. Take care

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