I'm going to start this comment by being a bit of a nitpick biatch. Supernova should be all one word. "Gravitationally" seems a bit too bulky and I think "gravity" would give the same meaning while looking and sounding all neat and trim.
But yeah, it's a lovely poem. I like a bit of romantic tragedy, that longing for a love that proves to be nothing more than dead starlight, and the way beauty alone isn't enough to fill the lacuna. But despite that, when stars are so pretty, who cares? There's got to be someone for everyone in all the infinity. Something fantastic.
Starlight so far away,
beating down on me.
Taking eons to caress my face
and warm the hurling comets inside
this axis-less orbit of being.
drawing me nearer and granting
time to keep-
spun from your prismatic divisions-
opening my arms to greet
pulling everything inside
the black hole of
this infinite and infinitesimal
But little do I know,
you are already dead.
Luminescent and ghostly.
A posthumous touch-
of a super nova love.
What an ironic write. Or what an ironic twist to the hopefulness of love as it appears to the oft wounded romantic desparate for the human touch that never seems to fulfill the need. Strangely enough, this has the resonance of a monologue given by the best friend of the romantic lead in the latest play; always destined to be the noble shoulder to cry on. The touch destined to always be the posthumous smile and nod of what if?'
what I liked about this is how it fit as a visual metaphor - lending itself to the pictures of love and death and dying. I'm not much on commenting these days but I hope you get what I am unable to say with the words I have spewed thus far. Happy New Year.