Intergalactic pancakes
swirling in the syrup
of dark energy.
Cappuccino Milky Way
frothed on black coffee.
No one in the bistro
for summer brunch
but you and I.
Empty here
on Sunday morning,
but it's my favorite spot
in the cosmos.
Space swept clear,
yet dappled with atoms
of sun.
Silence filled
with infinite points
of view,
all valid, not needing
to be spoken.
When I gaze
at you over the rim
of my white cup,
100,000 light years
dissolve
like grains of sugar
into perfect joy.
