Andromeda Burn

I crossed oceans in your eyes,
felt the sunlight of Andromeda.

But when it rained this morning,
I drowned in the poverty
of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

When will we eat the fancy food
in rooftop cafes, galaxies away,
listening to different languages of music and touch,
          staring at the beginning?

. . . Andromeda burn.
I am not coming.
It is too late in my life to make the journey.
I will stay on the planet
where it sill rains under gray clouds.
I do not deserve the rain of the water-color-green colors.
Let her kiss different lips, more womanly lips,
underneath such vibrant settings.
I like to climb up hillsides on Earth,
feeling the dirt underneath my hands.
This inspires me to shape pitchers for water,
to shape them for storage, banquet, and orgy.

Gush, gush.
I am still a water-drinker,
I remember a lady far away in the Andromeda System.

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