When you disappeared my thoughts
went along, grew cold and died.
Somewhere, there is half an automotive
from our last days, bruised, steam long lost.
The dirigible you used to escape yourself
has decommissioned. Even I stopped
purchasing recycled balloons – Nothing left
to fill what’s inside. The doomsday clock
exists for centuries, and i’d rather hear
the double ticks of your demise than no pop-ups.
But your mind was never uploaded, even when
people tired of a billion-year paradise, servers now
empty. Empty like the memory of your hair.
Space is warmer than your desertion, still
twinkling against the shapeless dunes where
we left off. I dance alone on these slopes,
kicking sand where every grain is possibility,
away from your spell to a dead end,
the terminus of your web of power struggles.
I dress the clouds that flow on my movements,
grasp the sky as my parasol, and stroll past our next lives.

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