“I love you.”
Your syllables have a gravity of their own,
Like a cosmos running out of light years
To put between Me and You.
I want to swallow your words,
The way black holes swallow stars,
And let them fill the gaping abyss,
In the cavities between my head and my heart,
So that when you break me,
Bygone starlight shall filter out,
And perhaps for a fleeting moment,
On the other side of the planet,
You’ll glimpse out of the corner of your galactic eyes,
A flash of something,
Half-radiant,
Pure-heat,
And be reminded,
Of a person you once thought you loved,
Only to turn around,
And find that I was never there.