In early July Earth reaches Aphelion, the farthest point in its orbit from the sun.
Your prompt is APHELION.
Fingers reach for light
A pinpoint fading to black
It’s cold, way out here
It’s lonely way out here.
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She drifts out, so far
As she can go. He watches,
Sure she'll be drawn back.
Is it natural
To be so distant just when
You’d promised me warmth?