Final Thoughts Beaneath an Eaten Sun

It’s 2019 and we just ate the sun, and no one knows where we’re drifting to, and no one cares.  We were spoon-fed stars from cereal bowls, we danced with our shadows in the kitchen’s light, and I knew everyone I loved. We broke promises with craggy rocks, beneath fraying wires  humming with lightning we didn’t see coming. It’s a cold and obliterating dream. The earth rolls  over, submits to time, and time is all we have. Now, it’s a new decade and everything is sour and  stale and I only know you through pictures in my old album when my hair was short and you  were young and I was stupid. I melted mars for you. The lava burned me. Meteors showered over  Jupiter one day, but I was sleeping in Pluto’s embrace. And the garden’s dead now, I presume.  Your grass has died and regrown five seasons over, and the dog is withering whiter by the day. The town’s changing colors, and the earth is growing warmer. And I am closer to drinking the  water from Saturn than I am close to admitting I miss you.