As spiders think with their webs,
so do I with neon and silicon
circuit diagrams
that cover entire city maps.
As locusts leap from fallow to field,
so do I in swarms
of insect-legged landers
and dark clouds of rocket smoke.
As the luna moth spirals
around the midnight light,
so do I.
You are the secret garden
on that moon,
breathing in my carbonized body,
gasping out oxygen.
As mercury fireflies crawl
from my eyes
and down my cheeks,
so do I feel your touch on my face.
I have traveled so far
to tunnel down inside you
—blood boiling, tongue balloon—
as the worm does the dunes
of my lungs
but, as damselflies’ wings
are plucked,
so were my solar sails
and panels on approach.
So now kiss me
with meteors
as I add my dust
to your dust.
| Josh Pearce has published more than 100 stories, reviews, and poems in a wide variety of magazines, including Analog, Asimov’s, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Bourbon Penn, Cast of Wonders, Clarkesworld, Diabolical Plots, Locus, Nature, On Spec, Weird Horror, and elsewhere. Find more of his writing at fictionaljosh.com. One time, Ken Jennings signed his chest. |  |