whispers into space

moonwalker,

look into my eyes and convince me

that you breathe the same stardust as I

for I'm told that I'm made from the

same soul-enduring clay as everyone else

and as you

but this eternal ticking beneath my eyelids

reminds me of my own ephemeral existence

and sometimes

I'm afraid I'll dissolve mid-thought into some

unknown

intangible

collection of spinning stars

or worse

I'll remain confoundingly mortal even after

time itself has given up on me