The Astronaut

(Who the Astronaut might be – allegedly)

I3 years ago tonight, and the coral reef reflected the moments before the light.
You and me ages old, but always in love, like a couple doomed to fail to love
Like we love the sea and sky beyond above, spheres in colors never seen before.
And like a fool I saw the sun as bright. Before the Astronaut ascended me the sacred wisdom, of swollen light, ultra violet, violent green, sharp as a bayonet strummed as might. Shining boy.

Shining boy with his harp and wings and wigs and things. To trick tourists and florists and fluorescent jihadists at a safe distance. From the sunrise.

13 years ago it came as a bloop. A sound from the deep of a loop being played on repeat like some evidence of alien roots. It was the Astronaut walking on the water barefoot. The Astronaut or Angel or Clairvoyant blabbermouth showing signs to whom that is open.
Imagine a door with no key, or frame, or keychain, always open and no one to yell beause it afterwards never will be the same.

You and me ages old.  The Astronaut cannot be bought nor sold. A vision is for everyone, I was told. Imagine us diving. The water outside of Nippon, svimme is the new swim with me.

Just like a soft belly gaining on vision, knowledge and doors without always unlocked.
The astronaut may be the last chance someone ever got, to trespass the threshold through the door and lo and behold, no hate the Astronaut is love, the astronaut has a strong hold
gaining foothold preparing an electric jolt. Like the bloop just bigger and louder

Like a volcano evolve and forms into shape after its born, its no better exlanation I have no navigational chords, only hearts minds, and the word as my sword. While I swim with you.
The sun is up, hearts can jonjoin science, but never come close to be such a joke. Tesla might or might as well have not – created The Astronaut. But wherever he now resides and rests his bones, he laugs at us like cartoon paroles parodies so near but lightyears lost.

She sings the song og summer. He wants to be the sky above the river. You and me and our praise for being lovers. Without anything physical besides mutal shiver under the impression we are heroes.
That is what the Astronauts always wants. If you arent happy with this vague description.

Try it yourself, we were all born as cripples. And the dream dripping, and not it’s ending like the earthquake, the bloop and the big dipper.
You and me. Becoming Astronauts. Watch out for the jolt.