Chryste says we are our own planets
inside of a dive bar,
pulling men into our gravitational fields.
but I feel like an astronaut,
invisibly free falling
on the fringes of every celestial body.
I lock eyes with a trail of comets,
ensorcell a protostar,
blush in the presence of a red giant.
in the slow descent,
my beer boils,
forming tiny crystals
that encircle my head.
cosmic rays permanently toxify my body
through string lights and neon signs.
I am illumined
or maybe I’m drunk.