Pretend for a moment that you are on the sun. Pretend
for a moment that gravity is a pulse. Pretend that
it squeezes you, (look at your lover’s eye, morphing)
Pretend that you yearn for flatness, for compression beyond closure.
Pretend time is an orbit around your finger around your eye
like a sunspot is an afterthought–let it collapse on you,
let it scorch & evaporate.
Pretend you can feel the synapse underneath your lover’s eye
pulsing across your eye:
now look at the moon looking at you lapsing into fission–
pretend this is sound & sing for love &
maybe the photons will sing you to dust,
arms stretched out, feet
half molten, lungs punctured into corneas &
Pretend the embers hold you & your bones
(not to scorch, but to hold) &
this gravity is peace.
Annika Gangopadhyay is a student and aspiring writer from California. She enjoys morning walks, music, and vintage postcards.