Helios and Lunar

He
There is no sound out in space
There are no vibrations of countenance
There are no floating deities with answers
Barren with no trace of smiles,

I would even take the tears of genocide
I would take the smell of rotting carcasses
I would grasp at meaningless words
Just to escape this gamma hell

She
Have you not heard of the blue green waltz?
Have you not heard the fading of stars?
Have you not heard all this clattering of noise?
Death and life entwined in love’s web

Do I have the tell you of the alignment of strings?
Do I have to tell you of dark matter?
Do I have I to tell you black hole jokes ?
They who move galaxies close

He
Fatalism and nihilism are right,
We hold no significance
This is all the revelries we shall know,
No angelic hosts to guide our names

Love is cultivated by the undertaker
He dresses our burial mounds with flowers
Our fragility he shores up with his balm,
and our final gift, a plot of mother earth.

She
For that piece of earth,
I will not cry a day,
I would not wish eternities
No crystals, no flowers, just fully formed flesh

Cue the pyramids,
Form the circle of Stonehenge
And let us travel to the steps of the Mausoleum
Nothing lasts except the mounds of undertakers

He
Let me drink from Socrates cup,
Falling from this fixed celestial orbit,
Drifting aimlessly drifting through the cold
Till I am caught, bound, tied by your hands

She
There shall be no blush in your cheeks
I could no longer see your fiery countenance,
And soothed by the dim wane of your soft old age
That is not love, my brave Helios.