Where I Ponder About You

Stars, sweeping planet dust,

orbiting something that looks like us.

You’re petrichor, I’m electricity.

When it all implodes,

I suppose that

it will look like scattered glitter,

or a hurricane,

or something else insane.

Detrimental love,

black, white, and shades of greige,

a conundrum that,

dare I say, is unnecessary.

You’re a downpour, I’m paper

and your art’s curator.

When we explode

it will sound like an after-party,

or a plane landing,

hummingbirds crashing.

Alongside it all

there is volcanic anger,

pangs of guilt,

sultry longing,

floating thoughts,

and painful fits of laughter,

but what if none of it mattered?

The passersby will wonder

why love is not enough.

In eternal incredulity,

I will ponder the same thing.