A swath of solitude

If money were no object, I would buy solitude,
A swath of solitude,
And decorate it to my liking.

In this solitude I would rest my levity,
Create my own gravity,
Draw my own celestial bodies, 
And let myself be rearranged by their magic.

With levity would be brevity—
Nesting in recovery
From other gravities that are not my own.
I would rest my brevity, oblige my magnitude,
Relax and expand rapidly,
Fill the space between my stars. 

If money were no object,
I suppose I would be my own universe—
Massive, encompassing,
Witnessed only by those who have the tools to see.

I suppose money is no object.

I suppose neither am I.