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One day the sun will become just another cold star
In someone else’s night sky.
One night your eye will turn to just another coffee plant
In someone else’s garden.
Their warmth won’t register,
but their glow will radiate for light-years.
Now, I catch the solar kisses and save them
deep under my skin, in the epicentre of my chest plexus.
Even though its January, and its the North Sea,
I feel flares inside my shaky bones.
I penetrate the curtains of clouds
between me and the light circle:
I see dust and gas that shroud galaxies,
swirl around stars,
and stretch through the tabula rasa
of cosmos.
You say the Universe is in the eyes,
Is in the iris – the galactic nebula.