Planet of Apes

Pan paniscus got it right.
Let's shed fig leaves,
and weave them into a basket shelter
on a branch.

Stare at the sky,
in the still lingering glow
of one explosion,
at the glow
before stars drown in cyan.

There, when I lap
dew from your skin
and dawn from your eyes,
we will lay modern man to rest.

There, in the thunder
of a thousand melodies
greeting the full circle,
our barks at a descending moon
will fit the fugue.

And the day will warm our vessels
from above
like we warmed them
from within.