The clouds of Jupiter beckon, endless shifting coffee cream swirls of gas and dust folding and unwrapping in melting deep rivers, soaring mountains of colour. I want to reach in, dig down and clutch my hands drawing up tendrils of the floss, wisps falling from my fingers, misty cascades of super chilled gas insanely, killingly cold lighting my mind and senses.
I float across the quartzite port a half inch between the beauty of the swirls and my tin can, wiping my frosted breath from its face. Just like our car in Sakha, our flat in winter, our first place in Pokhodsk another life another planet another time. I see the infernal machine in the panel blackened and shattered, screwdriver buried to the hilt in its guts. I can still feel her, taste her, her touch, the smell of her hair fresh washed, that stupid smile from one too many vodkas, I still have it all no matter what it told me. It told me she died, like for like it too should die, the universe outside my tin walls perished with her totally unutterably as the black velvet heavens took my spirit as they took my Nadia.
She lives in my mind in my heart yet time drags her away, my body and thoughts’ desire can’t bring back the feeling the joy the euphoria just the hollow response of this pent up empty shell of flesh. The recycler pulls the crystal globes of my tears to its heart to be captured, cleansed, offered up and consumed, transformed, cried again, a perverse cycle of redemption recovery communion and crucifixion as she dies anew as memory fades, inexorable, slowly as it must.
The hazel eyes of the gas giant stare out, infinite black irises soaking me, pulling me closer as she did, soft eyes of love, fire of passion, burning anger. I lost my heart and surrendered my soul to her but who has them now, who holds what I have given?
She lives in me yet dead once I cannot bear her to die again slowly as edges crease and distortions grow, fraying tape played over and over and over with blurring lines, blurring vision to pastiche, an iconic fable of love and purity and beauty in my heart, a hollowed-out caricature of the person and complexity she was. I worshiped her in flesh and mind, not as god or vision removed.
My tin can lives, automatic heart and mind seeing, feeling, recording, feeding its sunwards masters. Caring not for the sack of water within only that the data returns, the instruments spit out their endless penance, electromagnetic vomiting across the cosmos.
Her hazel eyes call to me from under golden tresses scattered across the planet below, soft glowing whorls drawing me down to her. I discard my steel epidermis dooming it to eternal electronic chatter. You will not fade not die again Nadia, what right’s half a man to live I will not see that half fade.
The thin fringes of atmosphere tug at me, the warming embrace of your body, your closeness, eagerness for our little death in this our greater death we will live and return once more. I am a shooting star in the clouds, my hands digging into the tendrils of floss screaming wisps of cloud hurtling as I fall into your eyes forever.