So they spun, the stars their backdrop… dizzyingly twisting in the frantic motion of moons and grand distances of fleeing galaxies.
The slightest breath of air from their parted lips, the smallest whisper, would add its’ thrust to the insane waltz. Yet as it the motion increased, the impulse to cry out in pure delight grew until it was unstoppable. Thus impelled, the exclamations came long and clear and passionate in their expression. So these pulses of air made each spin more ecstatic than the last.
At first there was the urge to wonder, to try to spy some landmark or guiding star to ascertain their course. To find some level, to measure the tempo and where each should lead or follow was briefly sought.
But in that ocean of stars, that blanket of warm dark, there is no up. There is no down. No level, no gauge… there is only the dance,… only Freedom,… only adoration,… and the constant light in your lover’s eyes. Stars may burn out and be born again, but that will remain.