The sticky spiral of a galaxy pulls us toward an unknown center.
The sun is a spider, gravity its slow-strung web to snare us.
One only need to look at the moon, wrapped in pale silk, to know our fate.
24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
The sticky spiral of a galaxy pulls us toward an unknown center.
The sun is a spider, gravity its slow-strung web to snare us.
One only need to look at the moon, wrapped in pale silk, to know our fate.