We are cognizant
of the black hole
at the heart of all
expectations,
yet our love
feels like an orbit;
slow and elliptical
around a private sun.
I, male, seem flighty
as though driven
by the panic of
self-propagation.
While you, the woman,
sufficiently immune
to the shadows
of destruction,
are committed to
the growth of an Eden
come what may;
day or night.
