Sliding down the gullet of a coiling snake, excreted into the milky way,
drenched from the whirlpool wormhole
in Salford Quays.

Dissipate in the atmosphere,
obliterate into atoms
heavier sentient matter settles on a distant star.

A feeling like an umbilical bungee cord of the dispersed heart pulls backward, towards the blue past, blue portal, blue planet.

The longing pulls so firmly and ardently it detaches the hard concretions of loss from the leftover porous fragments of the body, but the atmosphere of the star contains it.

A concretion is a hard compact mass of matter formed by the precipitation of mineral cement within the spaces between particles found in sedimentary rock or the body. The etymology of the word means 'grow together'.

Some of these extrapolated molecules are separated from their previous home in the lattice of collagen knitted into bones from the base of the sternum. From the dispersed mass some are harder to prize out than others. Some are compactly formed and pop like tonsil stones, others the echos and shadows of loss are embedded in the cells of the enamel of the tooth, the pores of the skin, the soft villi of the guts, the pushed back cuticles of nails. With the force of the longing they burst like eggs from an ovarian sac, pushing through the membrane, a sharp pain.

Freed from their internal confinement they attract one another in the silk atmosphere of the star and cling to each other in snaps of static, into larger and larger concretions, becoming meteorites.
The meteorites dance around each other at the limits of the star and slam like moist teenage bodies in the dark at metal gigs, with their conglomerate heaviness they fall to the surface of the star. They form a meteoric crust, each formation lovingly crushed beneath the newer conglomerates, Into layers, growing valleys and contours in the landscape, high peaks grow and monumentalise the molecules.

The grains of the rock draw the fragments of beings to settle into its crevices like dew, anchoring the splinters of sentient matter from floating back into the atmosphere.
The porous splinters inhale the sweet gasses emitted from the stars centre, decomposing into dewy motes of us that emit a soft opal light, illuminating and slicking the new terrain.
Our glossiness melts into each other, vast and limitless, moving slower than spit, pearls of molecules stick and merge without the memory of quickened heartbeats of broken boundaries. The slippery collective consciousness hums in rolling rapture.

In the Blue Past, The Observatory telescope is obsolete in finding us. The molecules of blue light reach the furthest and get lost. The blue of distance obscures the star, sight is abandoned, radio frequencies reach out and touch the contours of our surface into data that is mapped and traced. They track our movement across the sky, and naively speculate the future. The weight of their internal concretions grounds them to the earths gravity, while the outward sight of their longing towards us becomes mutual creating the schism that manifests the presence of absence and frees us.