A billion suns and I get lumbered with this one.
Stroking his ego and stoking his flames all the endless day. There is no respite for me, no eclipse or turning the other face. No night.
Mama Void and Papa Dust cast us together and their dictates are final. They are not indulgent of their children, they brook no quarrels. Not to suggest they are uncaring, but unwavering, certainly.
He lashes out, plasma exploding in a burst of magnetic energy which settles across me warmly, tenderly. He is showing off, showering me with particles and radiation, kisses of fleeting eternity.