Dimension XXX

Somewhere up in The Milky Way  
a constellation waits for us,  
in infra red, and in X-ray,  
shot out by pulsar blunderbuss  
so nebulae will stay in flux  
to power Cupid's cosmic dart,  
for an infinitude of fucks  
and rapture in each other's heart.  
   
And there we might forever stay  
in neutron Yin, and proton Yang,  
and gobs of space where we would play  
as angels quenched by stellar Tang,  
glittering, like a shooting star...  
serving champaign and caviar.