Let’s send our lovers where cups are sealed
and breath is measured in grams,
where things return to them in circles:
continents, their own recycled air.
Let’s send our lovers outside blue,
where pockets empty themselves to the roof
and the air’s a juggler. They’ll love us for it.
It’s why they train themselves to wear gloves
and can’t resist sitting on top of things
that are made for sitting under. Let’s give them
only this: the whole of space and time,
where gravity tidies up after itself and stars
make gold from their pockets. We’ll hold them
a little tighter than we hold the moon,
which tends to drift away, and when they pass
in constellations, we’ll love them telescopically,
a blanket round our shoulders, accustomed
to orbits repeating themselves, their gradual decay.
Let’s send our lovers into orbit by Liz Venn was the winner of the Bare Fiction Prize for Poetry 2014 and first appeared in Issue 5 of Bare Fiction Magazine in March 2015.