For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror

I woke up before you to weave from every ray of the matutinal sunlight a cocoon of our shared dreams; the cities you are travelling to can be abrasive. I have also packed you the vials of memories, of lotion like balmy nights and the crystals of freezing ones spent together. Use them sparingly on the wrinkles of loneliness. On a distant beach when you have worn the light of setting sun, save some of it in your eyes, for I would want to taste its saltiness later. Remember the time when our squiggling bodies were the only blemishes on the blushing moon. That moon is lost. If you find it crumbling over a desert bring me a handful of its spangles.

From a neon-lit parchment of ether, we cast runes into the bosom of the cosmos and wait for the echoes. And with an ear against the shell of the universe we listen to the patois, sloshing in the space-time, of the language forged in the tumultuous hearth of the stars. In the warps and the wefts of the molecular syllables can be heard the rhymes of life and the sonnets of creation