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Walking by darkened apartments one night at 2 a.m.
she breathed in a star.
Magnificent to inhale,
but almost immediately a sharp wind
forced her to cough it back.

Sometimes she imagined feeding on skies
full of dark matter,
wanting swallowed constellations
to bust her open, split by supernova energy,
then be dispersed as pieces of bluish atmosphere
in a massive hue-saturated nebula.

This melodramatic reverie just a whim
for a different way to imagine something beautiful.
Because she was so young.

Because the universe never needs to be photoshopped.