That time of the night when I wished I could go exploring the solar system a little more.
Perhaps a small picnic on Ganymede, or sun basking near the Aitken.
A little drive on lightening fast photons to Titan to Phoebe to Europa until finally arriving at a nice little spot on Pandora, whereform I would gaze into the horse head nebula and learn the secrets the gases unravel; know the colours that died to form that celestial fuschia and ochre depth of neon yellows.
How hair-raisingly terrifying, but one has to bear the concomitance of inter stellar universal travels, even ones that are as localized as inner galactic solar system transports.
A microcosm of sorts, ignored, unknown, unbothered, housing a myriad incidental secrets; wonders that care not to be known.
Lie about on satellites, watch them whirr past orbits and maybe if I'm lucky, intercept a signal traveling tirelessly through a wormhole, in binary functions and asymmetrical drawings, from now dead civilizations, long gone since millennia, a billion light years the signal travelled to reach in pristine condition, only to talk about historical happenings.
That time of the night, when time zones are a mere illusion and reality but a tiresome happenstance existing behind a sparkling screen.. in the shadows, in the background..blurring, blurring, gone.
Now it's just the two of us my love. Your eyes treading over and stumbling through each line, catching a whiff in muted caresses of each word I digitally daubed in electronic perfumes.
Kisses
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