The Gravitational Pull of Girl(s)

The Gravitational Pull of Girl(s)

I used to smoke so I had an excuse
to inhale the detritus of your skin.
I said this in our secret language.
Each smoke signal becomes a planet
becomes a cypher becomes a glyph
of you through the shower curtain.

I knew your breasts were moons
the first time I heard them orbit,
the first time my fingers landed
and sunk and the gravity of you
propelled them back to sky.
The rocksalt of your thighs is the
taste of the uncertainty principle.
I refuse to become addicted.

Through these drinking glasses, the night
sky holds planets haloed
by areolas, rosy rings. I can only reach
you on my knees. Here is where I say
Missing Variables Escaped My
Joyous Sight Until Nova.
The expendables always come last.
I never came with you. That sidereal period.
If I swoon here long enough I can pretend
you’re making one more revolution
around this primary body.

I talk about this so I don’t have to
talk about you.
The way you circled me and circled me.
The way you came home like an asteroid.
The way you entered my lungs like atmosphere.
How the sky blazed red-gold and snowed
glass. How we all died, holding our breaths,
burning from the inside, our hearts exploding
our hearts going bang bang bang

(Poem from a five-minute poem exercise. Write a poem in five minutes or less, then post! It’s great for jumpstarting creativity).