This is sharply calibrated work. The conceit of theft becomes a grammar for intimacy and damage at once, with science and spectacle held at arm’s length while the poem keeps returning to the body, the wrist, the burn, the aperture cut in feeling. I admire the way scale is handled here, galaxies reduced to manicure, admiration reduced to ash, until the speaker’s exposure becomes the only stable measure. The final turn from stars to black holes refuses glamour and closes on appetite rather than light, which feels earned rather than ornamental. There is real authority in that refusal.
leaves scorch marks
I like the raw sensation weaved with fantasy, romance and tension..
This is sharply calibrated work. The conceit of theft becomes a grammar for intimacy and damage at once, with science and spectacle held at arm’s length while the poem keeps returning to the body, the wrist, the burn, the aperture cut in feeling. I admire the way scale is handled here, galaxies reduced to manicure, admiration reduced to ash, until the speaker’s exposure becomes the only stable measure. The final turn from stars to black holes refuses glamour and closes on appetite rather than light, which feels earned rather than ornamental. There is real authority in that refusal.