Galactic Symphony

Come the quickening blood, the churning luminaries to outer expanses
the Milky Way is my mortar and pestle and I grind star bones to dust
fly away, oh comet boy, and my net of stars will soften your landing:
I will catch you in dark matter arms and sail seas of white nebulas
soon we will be black hole screams, spaghetti, stretch inter-dimensions
but for now, your cradle is a sickle moon, and I am your quantum dream.