Orbital

Orbital (16th September, 2008, 2.39pm)

When You approach, my heart rises and swells,
blood bubbles to the surface, magnetised, wells
like magma at the centre of a planet. Orbital.
I am a solitary moon, revolving around You.

Every room You enter shimmers, settles, realigns
around You like the surface water of a slow-shining
river; disturbed, rippling out from an epicentral stone,
then shallower, flatter, dimpling, smoothing over.

Before You came, I was undiscovered ground;
flagless, unclaimed, desolate, an ultrasound;
images of black and white filled my mind;
You opened windows, doors, to air and light;

You coloured in the silences with words of love,
and the ants of Time marched forward, carrying our
combined weight, stones became lighter than grams
and things were left behind that I no longer understand.

Here, the open curtain ripples, flutters, disturbed.
I close the doors and windows, but the world has heard
the news You utter, truths bent to clasped fists;
I see Your pain and I forget myself as You slip

through my fingers like a million grains of sand.
My orbit shatters; the colours fade, the silence fans,
rippling; the stone drops, unclaimed, through my heart;
the blood rises to the surface. I am an exploding star.