Here is where thoughts,
Though born thoracic,
Meet recycled language.
Out, out of this singularity,
Beyond, then beyond again,
Having breached their event horizon.
Outwardly, an onward transmission,
Dated and compressed.
The further reaches of your heart.
Inwardly, a sense of fulfilment.
Yelling truths across the page,
Whispering with notes sung,
The fluttering verses of. . .
Of, I’ll love you to your hearts content.
C 2019 Christopher Thompson