Our love is the distance between two stars;

to any earthy eyes, we share the sky,

(or so it seems when observed from afar)

our cosmic marriage through closeness implied.

Only rockets on their maiden voyage

could notice the straining cosmic forces:

gravity barely repairing the wreckage

Of two passing comets, scarcely in orbit.

If they knew what us burning fires fear,

being smothered in close proximity,

they could see why we dance around spheres: two galaxies reaching for intimacy

hoping our glances endure, not succumb,

the distance between forefinger and thumb.