Oh, Heavenly Body!

I told
you
I love you.

My feet
never left
the Earth.

You -
never left
my side.

The supernova
I hoped
to see
in your eyes,
ran and
hid
behind the dark-side
of the moon,
your comet-like
one-liners
fell into a deep
hyper-sleep.

I froze.

Moments passed.

Silence.

I couldn't wait
to see
just what madness
was going to
come
popping out
of our stomachs.

I became overwhelmed
with fear
that aliens
were sneaking up
on me from
behind
for some random
probing.

Instead -
pleasantly,
I got hit
in the back of
the head
with a massive
asteroid.

You were
forced
to open your
mouth
and release the
planets
you'd imprisoned
there.

And finally,
rivers of blood
flowed like
milk
from the eyes
of the sun
at the mere
site
of Venus
rising majestically
from the inside
of an aluminum can
of dog
food
called Pluto.

And you said
it,
you said you
love me
too.

Proud I am
now
with you,
the biggest ring
of Jupiter,
wrapped squarely
around

my finger.

Bryon D. Howell is a poet currently residing in New Haven, Connecticut. He has been writing poetry for a great number of years. Recently, his poetry has appeared in poeticdiversity, Red River Review, The Quirk, The Cerebral Catalyst, and The Lost Beat. Bryon is also the Editor-in-Chief of three online poetry 'zines: The Persistent Mirage, Bringing Sonnets Back, and Quentin's Naughty Poetry Journal.

Find more by Bryon D. Howell in the Author Index.

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