We danced
slower than the galaxy
in a gaze
deeper than Gargantua

she told me fairytales
of a perfect afternoon sunshine
with a quiver of her lips

and I asked advice
from the sky in her hair
as it was the only one conscious
in the sunken quintet

whether I should
risk a breeze
with a stroke
gentler than newborn clouds
and mortalize the stillness of her dream
for a glimpse of the eon
or simply
obey the children in my bosom
who begged me to die right there
knowing every moment after
would be worse

but it was as mute as the New Year
in a brimming metropolis
on the night when she left.

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