Gravity

 

Gravity

 

 

Do you sometimes wonder if love generates gravity?

If you have enough of it, will other bodies

wrap themselves around you

 

drift quiet into your outer orbit, these wandering

worlds of wondering thoughts, dreams

unspoken, reflections undisclosed

 

like a dark distant platonic Pluto, far too far out

to reflect the warmth of your remote sun?

Some flame brighter than others

 

exerting a pull on her spark as it pulls on you

in turn, tugs hard at you, jerks you full in:

you forget if you end or she begins.

 

Then whose gravity is whose? Did you find orbit

as binary partners, waltzing twins serene

amongst the music of spheres

 

or grow so great in love, just to tear it all in pieces

where no light can escape a dread black

mass of denial, spite and fear?

 

Holes. So dense in pact they weigh the heart

down like worn stones in the pocket

of a tossed and drowning man,

 

looking towards space where her body spinning

far distant, like a long dead lost star

is warping memories of time,

 

memories of space, memories of the warmth

that two suns close together can bring

when they choose to sing.

 

And all seems lost, but not quite, for those little

stars may come, may grow in strength

may one day grow in might

 

then draw your strength to shed warmer light

into weeping holes of black burnt hearts

 loose love from cruel bonds tight

 

and somewhere still faint and out on the rim,

well love’s gravity could still yet bring

that body’s cold spark in.