letters to the universe 1

my shapeless beloved,
my 15-hourglass catalepsis,
my universe in an air castle above a snowglobe,

too much illimitable time has passed
already and not nearly enough stands left to unravel
your cotton mysteries borrowed from department store racks;

eternities, painstakingly dismembered to hallow stills
whence i’m granted pro tempore life to smear your magic shadow blush
to chasm depths where parabolas are ocean-wept,

will someday verge upon (my) collapse.
for even now i doubt there’s reality left outside your arms,
mass beyond your lips, or breath more than moments

after you close your lights.