mori girl

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.