I'd always held onto the notion
That the balloons I let slip from my palms
Would blushingly allow their helium to carry them
Into outer space—pull itself back into the stars,
Past shifting blossoms of cloud,
Brushing blue starlight
Like ember tossed back into fire.
An erasure of violence.

Maybe I couldn’t imagine my hands
As more gentle than atmosphere—
Latex against skin sending prickles
In the imbalance of electric charge,
The way proximity feels unnatural
In the giddy performance of stood-up hair.

I’ll turn a blind ear
To the bang,
Let it happen overhead.
If collision can create,
What beauty will bloom
When you inhale—allow 
The air inside you to expand.
Surely, the sound is different.

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