A Little Gravity Remained Poem by Joshua Amaefule

Two bodies press,
not like paper, flat and tame,
but planets caught in orbit,
pulled by laws they cannot name.
No clockwork here—

just gravity undone,
the dark unspooling slowly
between the moon and sun.
Your breath a tide,
my spine a bowstring drawn—

we move in reckless algebra,
solve for x, then gone.
The bed's a map
of forces left behind,
where heat translated silence

into something close to kind.
And when the night
reclaimed its borrowed flame,
for every force we tangled,
a little gravity remained.