Dark Matter

Every tablespoon of sugar
you put into my mouth;
those quick pecks
and endearments,
taste like doubts.
Your firm grip on my shoulder
feels like home,
but home is where
I’ve always wanted to run away from.
And your warmth,
your goddamned warmth,
is ever so comfortable,
but my grey, raging heart
and fondness for independence
doesn’t demand it.
Your voice sounds like
perfectly strummed strings of D major 7,
as if it’s music in my ear.
Yet sometimes,
silence is more harmonious
than any note.
I can clearly see
the sadness in your eyes
no matter how much effort you exert
to brighten them up,
to hide in luminosity.
Here, listen;
despite the beauty of the galaxies,
there’s this entity that they call
dark matter.


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