Embryo or nebula? Spreading out or collapsing in? Whether clouds of gases or tendrils of veins, herein lies the realm of form, exploding and condensing, living in its dying, and dying in its living.
When I feel that inside me, inside you, my hand lets go; thought spirals outward, feeling spirals in, and the prow of the ship takes its rightful lead through bloodstreams and galaxies, captain-less, crew-less, propelled by the pump of the heart, and the wind of suns.
Standing on the deck, looking both inside and out, my blood is in the stars, and the stars are in my blood.