There’s a murder moon tonight. A maroon mask swallowing the stars. The fire of the crescent, the sun's shadowed reflection that usually eclipses it. Constellations curl at the corners, aligning to fate in this indigo twilight. Is this the end or the beginning? I collect crustaceans from the constellations underneath July's midnight blue. Milky way stars and meteorites from Mars, sensations of galactic gore, ice like glass glistening. Shooting stars emerge from the sun-diversion. The sun is your moon, Venus your orbits range. In Jupiter seas, lazuli fish swim to the surface. I am one with the wind, aligning with your mercury consumption, and combining our martian fumes to form the blaze that burns you; clinging to your artery streams. I feel like fire and love like air; when the flame is gone, I won’t be there.
