As I walk towards you in a straight path,
the gravity of your hips curves my space-time,
spinning me around in an eliptical orbit.

How close do I have to be before I stop
spinning and reach you, shimmering sun?
Shall I become eviscerated in your heat?

If so, will you remember me as more than
just the dust of a foolish celestial object that
moved too close to your burning surface?

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Photo by Jordan Wozniak

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