Intent

“doth make
stars to shine”
so
a lusty young lad is led
to seduce his lady
in a canopied bed
and,
since a poet,
to dream sugary sonnets
in the sex-sweat-soaked,
muse-whispered-afterglow,

or,

stars to collide,
their solar systems cremating,
burning off their peopled planets
till not a memory
echoes in the ash.

Intent:
thought birthed in Mind,

or,

not.

So

the Milky Way
spins into the expanding reaches
and at the end of a billion billion years,

or,

so,

mixes with another drifting galaxy,
“letting there be light”
in a dark cul-de-sac of eternity

and Intent said,
“It’s Good!”,

or,

not…