Within seconds I am caught in your orbit –
it’s not my programmed flight path
– I clamber into override to pull out.
And then you smile, and I’m plunged back deep
into your atmosphere.
I crack a harmless joke to disrupt the gravity
of the situation, and my vessel
tears free – battling drag as
I catch the curve of your thigh
from over my shoulder.
You are the sun,
and you live in the city,
in a humble, but well-appointed
(of course you do).
I radio ground control
and initiate the return protocol.
Realising the catastrophic consequence
of a world orbiting two suns,
I swear never to return.