Fossil Stars
Once, everything burned.
We forget that.
We live inside the cooled remains
of a fever.
Every breath we take
was once fire,
was once a scream
crossing the black.
Even the quietest touch
carries that history,
light turned solid,
heat given form.
I think of it sometimes,
how desire is older than us,
how our bodies
remember the first collapse,
the way matter learns
to hold itself together
before it explodes.
You press your hand to mine.
Two small stars
pretending to be human,
their heat buried,
their glow still leaking
through the cracks.
What a poem!! I am so jealous that I didn't write this!!!!!! Wow. This poem is a holy, far-reaching, important thing.
You are so good at this. Never stop writing, please.