I am lashed to a gypsy boy
by one colossal sky.
when this universe shrinks to a cage,
I’ll remember that his eyes were
black holes;
dripping, magnetic wounds;
and through them
we could probably tunnel our way free.
I will miss you, gypsy brother,
in the not-so-far-off fore when
your pain is no longer a false alarm.
If nothing else,
remember the morning
when the sun filled our eyelids
and, for a moment,
opened those sleek black
holes to light.
If nothing else,
remember the morning.
