Albert Einstein: "Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love."


There's a story to tell about starlight,
the passion play it illuminates.
All the years drawn like straws, long, short, random -
birth, sex; death the great leveler.
Oh, and God, the surprise at the bottom of the box,
because everyone loves a surprise.
We paint the air with our tongues,
nouns and verbs, spaces between heavy with meaning,
bogged with the insensible weight of it all.
But for now it's out into a night
made for the freefall of our romance,
beneath this pedigree of light,
our hot dusty ancestry in atoms of love -
remnants of the monumental fucking that started it all,
and your smile glows just like that grand improvisation,
an invitation from the warm oven of your mouth
to bask in the love that has been there from the beginning.