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.