Gliding

A swan and a soothsayer,
both awkward and enchanting,
you are a thundercloud of space dust, rolling in-
effervescent and deadly.

Capsized, we’re seizing the fragments
while experiencing sensory delight.
We’re treading water and losing;
slowly vaporizing and talking about it.

We’ll soon be powder,
nebulas in the darkness.

It is a paradoxical elegance
that from here looks like black ice
with islands of glass floating throughout;
shimmering in the majestic lunar glow.

This ache is blunt and nagging;
the lines are all pulled taut
and the glimmer in your eyes is
milky distant, and grey.