Space warps and blowing up stars

‘’Oh you know very well we can never have enough of space warp and blowing up stars.’’

Blowing them up, huge and far, trailing scented ash in their wake. A comet tail for us to walk on later. And we will never be tired of extolling the many absent virtues that galaxies forgot to instill in minds.
Minds which, by the by, make invisible shards glitter with opaque sheens.

No, we will never have enough of blowing stars to smithereens. Of rocking our heads to cosmogyral beats. Blowing shiny dust on blackened hearts, blinking awe at still transformations.

And warps will forever remain our forte. Where Space falls short, we will put ourselves forward. Miniature dimensions folded up in cramped hollows. Fault lines canvassing our souls incognito.

We can never have enough. Of space warp and blowing up stars. Of wondering what they all mean, held in suspended gravity. The centers of their universe, asteroids that orbit us.
We are the warps, imperfect flaws on dimensionless magnitudes.
We are the blown up stars, scattering worlds like dust.