Everything in the universe is recycled

This poem has been written
more than a thousand times.
You and me – we’ve done this
every damn century since
heat exploded as different people
on Saturn or Jupiter,
or other planets we haven’t yet named.

Because when you stand in front of me
I feel the power of millenniums.
And honestly, it doesn’t matter if you
think the cells in your skin have
lived one million lives before or not.
I know we are ancient and whole.

So when you hear that riff
of a guitar that you’ve now
sung to a numbing amount of times,
know I was there watching,
and sometimes dancing.
We both agree every word transcends
forever through speeds of light.

I don’t believe in accidents or the
random nature of eyes locking.
So whatever happened to make you
forget is irrelevant. Even if all I want
is to know why, and when, and how
you could erase it all.

We will all be born to the galaxies again.
I’ll see you there on the blue cold
side where the stars remember color.
Asleep in the dark part where we wait
for the streaks of shooting matter to
remind us we exploded at the same time
in a universe where we are both irrelevant
and also everything all at once.