She’ll wrap me in webs as planets are spun–
Long, slender silver threads from cold moons hang
to the apex of my apogee, smiles
–dance with soft stars radiant reflection,
where their methane skies still warm up her sighs.
Tomorrow reminds me, black holes exhale–
more harsh than a Jupiter wind, across
her wide open mouth; her bent crescent eyes.
Galaxies try to capture her essence,
pure as the silk threads that move her feet—hands,
propelling my Plutonian puppet
at light speed dancing back into my arms.
She refills my soul with the dark of night.
She is my puppet on an endless flight.