Nik Boyd
Reaching across space with his heart,
he feels her love and all felt distance recedes.
The sudden knowledge of her love compells him,
swells up and overwhelms him.
Cascades of laughter rave out from his madness
and he swears revenge against time.
For only hours separate them,
only some few kiloseconds that must die.
Girding his form, he arms himself
with swollen heart and heated breath.
Abiding in his space, he starts
the slaughter of time apart.
Separate moments rise up like a frothy tide
to storm his sense of unity,
but he tears them down
and uproots them mercilessly.
Once torn from their rooted connection to space,
shredded by his focus on his present place.
Space moves as well and freely as he,
as he leaps into possibility.
Momentum burns at his direction,
taken sway by his way.
Then killing time, the slaughter begins:
broken and bloody bits of moments,
moments beheaded and moments behalved,
moments crushed and split asunder and ground under,
moments divided and thereby multiplexed,
moments shattered and scattered,
moments splintered and fractured,
and fallen away into the past.
For once having entered the fray,
the distance that once was cannot last.
Only mere moments of once suffered pain,
only mere moments 'til with her again,
only small moments inevitably gone,
only some moments were left 'til the dawn,
and then he was finally with her again,
drunk on her fullness, her fullest heart swain.