The Universe

the universe is expanding
and your hands are soft;
you are beneath the page,
reading words backwards
knowing them better than I do.
when the moon is eclipsed
it is the color of blood;
we have moon in our cuts,
satellites in our mouths,
bites on our cheeks.
when the last galaxy disappears
your fingers will squeeze it;
I will be behind you,
watching your veined backhand
humming sweet lonesomes

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