We speak in wavelengths
only time can translate.
What you said
a thousand lifetimes ago
echoes still
in the hush
of my exhale.
Your gaze—
a keyhole:
small,
but behind it,
a cathedral of galaxies
spinning in worship
of the moment
we noticed
each other.
It isn’t the pull of mass,
but of meaning—
how your presence
warps my space,
and I surrender
not because I lack a centre,
but because I orbit
what matters.
