The soft scent that carries your name
Of moments that some would call shame
In griefing the cosmos for change
You were a knuckle dragging and I was the floor;
our history met in a light oiled slick tracking behind us
reminding us that the past is a messy affair.
In the corner of your eye lives a galaxy
so named for the saint of broken hearts,
that would take me light-years to reach.
We were better off as stars -
distant, bright and beautiful
and not the fiery density we are up close.