Above The Atmosphere

We float inside the hush between the sun and the moon —
your laugh a slow solar flare licking my collarbone,
my spine reposed like an orbit that finally stops spiraling.
Rainbow paper cranes unstitch themselves from your pocket,
flittering in slow-motion spirals, each wingtip tugged
by the same velvet gravity that cups our bodies.
We don’t fall; we ripple, two bright pulses braided,
a tidal heartbeat that says stay, stay, stay
while nebula dust freckles our lips like sweet static.

We hitch a ride on a comet like it’s public transit.
No tickets, just nerve, boots unlatched,
drifting as nebula fog curls into a kettle between us.
You pour me a cup of something violet and starlit —
space tea that tastes like jasmine learning my name —
steam threading your throat when you laugh.
Our packs hum with small futures:
rice triangles wrapped in foil constellations,
a map that keeps redrawing itself on your wrist
whenever I look too long.
We sip, we spin — hips brushing in zero-G
like a promise that doesn’t rush,
and every time I let go, gravity remembers me gently,
and returns me to you as if it’s been practicing this.

We kick off a solar flare like it’s a dance floor that learned our names,
heat blooming around us — liquid gold that licks but never harms.
You catch my wrist and we vault to Orion’s Belt,
a constellation playground rattling with light — three bars, then leap —
my calves singing from the day, your grip gravity that I trust.
Your laugh arcs brighter than the flare behind us —
a choreography of heat and hold, risk made soft —
and the universe pauses to watch us not fall.
We are not being tested.

We fold the dark into a pillow fort that hums like a secret,
a soft-mouthed wormhole stitched from stars and blanket-light.
Outside, a constellation of seahorses drifts past, bellies glowing —
small galaxies slipping from them like promises that don’t need proof.
You tuck me into the curve of your chest and space bends politely,
walls collapsing into the exact size of your arms.
We whisper nonsense that echoes back as merriment,
your fingers tracing routes along my ribs like hidden coordinates.
Inside this pocket, nothing is lost, nothing spins out —
just us, held steady by a gravity that feels like trust.

We land on an asteroid that insists on becoming a garden,
soil brewed from starlight, soft as a promise under our boots.
You hand me shears that hum — together we prune comets into trellises,
train meteor vines to curl like our names learning each other.
Orchids open with supernova throats, exhaling warm color we can taste,
and I press pollen to your forehead just to watch it glow.
Paper cranes root in the beds, unfolding into small, bright creatures —
petals with wings, sipping gravity like nectar from our wrists.
We water everything with tea steeped from nebula leaves,
and nothing here dies — everything just keeps choosing to bloom with us.

We climb back into the cockpit like it remembers our shapes,
seatbelts spun from aurora drape across our hips without asking.
The console flickers — manual override labeled trust — you don’t even look,
just steer while the ship exhales into alignment.
Rainbow cranes sweep the windshield, rearranging themselves into directions, origami constellations blinking routes we already feel in our bones.
We breathe together — slow, then slower — until the engines learn our rhythm, until the galaxy softens its edges and lets us pass.
Autopilot hums something that sounds like your name in my mouth,
and every course correction is gentle — gravity choosing us, again, on purpose.
We are not being tested.

We drop onto the moon like a dare we already trust,
jetpacks hiccuping laughter as we skid through silver dust.
You press a spray can into my palm — shake, shake —
and we tag the Sea of Tranquility with a soft, illegal stay.
Paint beads lift in low gravity, drifting into our hair like tiny planets,
your shoulder bare, dusted bright, a horizon I can’t stop crossing.
Koi slip through shallow craters, liquid silver looping our ankles,
their scales flicker — messages I swear are addressed to us.
We leave footprints that refuse to fade, stubborn as a vow,
and the moon keeps our handwriting — tilted, laughing, impossible to erase.

Time drips off the walls in soft, surrendering clocks —
faces slouched like overripe fruit, numbers sliding into our hands.
We hang them from each other’s wrists and watch them melt slower there,
seconds pooling warm where your pulse insists on staying.
Rainbow cranes arrive early, wings damp with tomorrow,
postmarked in ink that hasn’t decided to exist yet.
You read me a line I won’t say until later, and it lands anyway —
a future dissolving sweet against my tongue.
We press our mouths to the same slipping minute, let it blur —
and nothing hurries, nothing leaves, not even time remembering how.
We are not being tested by time.

You map me in starlight like you’ve always known the route,
connecting my freckles with a fingertip that hums like a compass.
Ink blooms where your mouth pauses — constellations waking under skin, unspooling across my collarbone, a belt I don’t want to loosen.
Gravity presses us closer, a gentle insistence — stay in orbit —
your breath sketching meridians I didn’t know I carried.
I become a chart you can read with your eyes closed,
every landmark a yes, every border dissolving into you.
We get lost on purpose and call it navigation,
and the only true north is the place your body finds mine.

We sink into a crater that remembers how to be water,
basalt cradling a bath the color of held breath.
You pour space tea between us — steam ribboning your throat —
and I finally unclench under the quiet of your presence.
Whales rise slow through the dark, singing the room into a pulse,
their songs settling in our ribs like something ancient and kind.
We lean back, skin shining, galaxies drifting across the surface —
no edges left, just warmth that knows exactly where to stay.
You rest your mouth against my shoulder like a bookmark in a favorite page, and for once the universe feels finished —
not because it ends, but because nothing here needs to change.
As if we were never being tested at all.

DEDICATION/INFLUENCES

meet me at recess 😉

This piece lives somewhere inside Rainbow by Kesha, an album that has deeply shaped the way I understand myself and the world, especially the tracks “Finding You,” “Learn to Let Go,” and “Spaceship.”

In addition, it drifts alongside “Weird Fishes/Arpeggi” by Radiohead, “Stellar” by Incubus, “Nine in the Afternoon” by Panic! at the Disco, and “Space Song” by Beach House. These songs also helped shape its orbit.

that’s all you’re getting… ✨