Once there was a girl.
She lived in a house of rock,
and danced to old cassettes so
her days could summersault.
She missed the bendy straw.
She planted appleseeds when she was little.
She had a picture of her dog in the mirror.
One day, a subtle crash brought
these two planets together.
Both apologized, for they were in
their own orbit, oblivious to the
shifting tug of seconds passing.
Both needed constant motion,
so they walked together.
They talked about the weather,
about the news, about everything
they hated to talk about.
They formalized themselves,
deciding to voyage out and sail
the uncharted skies of what they
so secretly wished to talk about.
From one star to the next they jumped.
From one day to the next they
tunneled under to their secret vaults,
where both kept the other.
They relocated to a green,
sunken street of his prairie dream.
But there, grew clouds of new
opportunities; new jobs.
Like sand shaken from shoes;
ruff plummet all over.
You can't always get what you
want, he told her.
Goodbye is his least favorite word.
Hers, she never said.
He drank tap water through a
bendy straw and skipped meals.
She got lost in the sky to avoid
the other picture in her mirror.
But these were two desperadoes
who hated fences.
Two freaks in clothes, and shoes,
and hair.
So without any science,
they reconfigured form,
like fingers intertwining.
I guess it's fair to say this poem
would be a cosmic wonder if
two planets hadn’t met and settled
the universe beforehand.
The End.