I once had the chance to see the other side of the sky, and the stars didn’t glitter; they were grey shadows as diminished as the mole on her breast. The sun didn’t vent its wrath, but leaked the comforting warmth of the impression of her unexpected pecks. The moon crooned in the language of her lovemaking.
There were no whites, blues, greens, or glaring reds of distraction. It was colourless, like her breath. We met there when we died. The universe seemed like a pea sized bubble. She pricked it with her muted laughter and it was all gone. What remained was a faint smell of all the memories we had had together.