I’m a little confused, still wondering which constellation
Collapsed in a mass suicide to give way to an orgasm
At least one feels like that – and the inverse appears to be true too
Like when my wife quakes through her fault lines
And she tells me, she has never had an orgasm till our honeymoon
And it took only three days of honeying
To sweeten her face. And now it seems
She’s a little shy of them, wanting a baby more.
It appears after a year of marital bliss, I’m gazing
At the night sky, searching not for Andromeda
Tied to a bed post and fantasizing I’m Perseus.
I’m just yearning for a baby star to get bigger and brighter
Like nucleosynthesis sculpting a fetus inside my wife
And chemical elements changing in composition for a star to evolve
And I just want to make her happy. Happy as a
Tiny nebula inside of her strengthening in luminosity.
And I look up at the sky, a sky filled with flying fish
Barmy dolphins, radiant toucans and elaborate peacocks
And all I wish for is a shimmering mass multiplying inside her
Crashing through black holes and darker tunnels
A perfect orb of light, my wife and I could make on a picnic cloth
As dozens of fairy fireflies hold tiny sky lanterns
And now, I don’t search the skies for collapsed constellations
Seemingly a little death doesn’t matter, only a little life
And supernovas had taken a step back, and one day not far away
I will gaze at the only cosmos I know, holding her thighs wide apart
My palm firmly in her grip, ejecting out a little dwarf
Brighter than any star in the whole night sky
As if we had given birth to the sun, blinding us
And stretching our little universe
With the only constant we know – love.
