the one where the stars burn out

it was dark. et cetera. you know how it starts. then
i lit you up, and you lit me. it was
inevitable. it was gravity.

the pressure we exert
on each other drove us closer, drove us
inward seeking fuel for fire

to etch shadows
of weak and watery planets
on the walls of the universe.

we inhaled hydrogen,
sweated helium and gold.
call it love, fusion, alchemy:

call it what you like.
it's the cheapest sort of magic.
it happens all the time up here, you know.

a day comes when all that can burn
has burned away; when we find ourselves
with nothing left we'd care to say

we blow apart, brief candle cores
alone and dark in the sepulchre of sky
fading blonde through red to our natural brunette

waiting patiently for gravity
to pick up the resurrection phone. waiting
to fall back together again.

new lights will gleam in the wreckage:
the rich dust of planets
where life can resume some day.

it's the same old phoenix story:
star death, star birth.
you'd be wrong to think repetition

makes it hurt one damn bit less.