When I Learned That Spiders Were Found Weaving Webs In Zero-Gravity On The International Space Station
it reminded me of you.
That may have come out wrong. What I mean is
I find myself thinking of you at those distracted corner-of-your-eye moments when my synapses are firing focused electricity like the sparks we created that jumped from my nose to yours and yours to mine after we rubbed socks that one December night beneath shooting stars and space stations and galaxies and galaxies and galaxies and do you think that everything is infinite like those spiders weightlessly weaving would they fill the entire space station if left undisturbed and what would happen if they filled every inch of the place what then would it explode into a silent floating mass of white web hugging the earth and did the astronaut tasked with cleaning out the cobwebs think about any of this before they swept it all away and anyway