long ago, a nebula and a constellation fell in love.
a bright kind of passion.
the stars -
screaming
the planets -
wailing
the charcoal sky -
bleeding into the laps of desire.
it was a soft kind of love.
it turned the universe into a blasting fury of beautiful specks.
YOU ARE READING
Prismatic Memories
Poetry"i. they tell me they cannot comprehend art. where art is, whispers reside. ii. i tell them that the only art i need are the words that bleed onto paper. iii. they tell me it doesn't work that way. there are compromises for art. sports. scie...
