Type la supernova

by Kieren  

i feel as though perhaps both of us know what it is to kiss the event horizon of a black hole,

to brush the darkness with the sweetest parts of ourselves

let it run down cold down our throats,

fill our lungs heavy and viscous—

on a more material level, i know the crook of my neck as i lean into you

you know my weight on your shoulder, the heaviness of my skull

i love you in the way only desperate people can

crashed into the ocean and treading water, treading

water, the way you love

the person who’s got their head above the waves

just to the left of yours

the way you love your knees knocking with theirs as you kick

and choke and


i love you in the moments where everything is just above quiet

and i don’t know what to do with my hands

i love you like the last song you hear before you fall asleep

like how carpet feels under your feet at 3 a.m.

like rewatching an episode of the office for the twentieth time

and smiling before the joke is even made

the way we slept next to each other says it all:

we share a center of gravity

two stars pulling each other around

and around for eternity, two children holding hands

and spinning in circles, laughing even as they fall

i love you like all the words that never come to mind

how well we know each other is the standard by which galactic distances are


and oh, how far away everything is

compared to you


kieren (they/them): purple lipstick aficionado, practiced card shuffler, inconstant lover of their own gender confusion. sporting clashing colors since the third grade. adores stardust, in both the cinematic and astronomical senses. has a deep fondness for the rain even in the absence of romantic attachments. probably humming mindlessly in a public place.