You breathed in the robust idea of being alone
in the milky way with nothing on your back
but the silk cloth of skin
and you exhaled the heroic sovereignty of saving
the poor polluted starlight,
cradling sweet nothings about how those
luminous explosions in the sky were
the iridescent threads and ribbons
that kept our planets gently knit together.
You told me the galaxy was filled
with incandescent jewels
things like topaz encrusted souls
and cosmic layers of adoration made of
bright celestial spirits.
You had whispered your final
words with the quiet sublteness
of a moon just passing by,
saying or rather deciding that
"Stars are just diamonds with a lightbulbs intentions."