can you feel the flame dying? 

the celestial hearth we orbit dims. 

premonitions of heat death:

you inch farther

and farther

away. 

our gravity: not enough. 

this dance, it comes to an end— 

you are drawn in by another,

by a pull

far greater.

goodbye old friend, goodbye. 

i pray this star

is warm enough for me alone— 

but my oceans

already turn to ice. 

my glacial heart

slows its beating. 

heat death, heat death, heat death: 

again, the premonition. 

prescient vision:

it sees not the future, but the now

too clearly. 

my love is its own cipher: 

the very thing which bitters our parting,

makes shouts of whispers, 

cymbals of subtlety. 

and what is heartbreak but this: 

for the heart

to still hold someone near 

who is not near 

to be held?

the heart understands not 

the language of miles—

to it, you are still close. 

it reaches out, sure of your embrace— 

it recoils at the thin air. 

my love:

where are you?