Shines like the wet-hot nexus

of interplanetary delight.

The faithful centre

of a star splintering outwards, gasping,

burnt bright across the asphalt ––

And breathe.

Isn't this what you came here for?

I cup you in my palms, and it feels like ––

I turn my cheek to yours, and it feels like ––

The outline of a body, bent. Pin-up red.

My teeth are white in the pictures. I smile,

and I don't blink.

That which breaks, becomes. And

that which becomes?