There are universes within universes, and
even though I have nothing
to give to the swirling mass of Neptune
or offer the Shakespearean moons,
I can touch the eleventh dimension that
pulsates within your chest.
I’m collecting the shrapnel from her supernova,
and I’m wearing Alpha Centauri
as a cocktail ring, and
I’m mapping your freckles like constellations
because in my little universe
we are galaxies
whose spiraling arms intertwine.