If the sun had hands, he’d reach out
to touch the curve of the moon’s spine, tracing
his fingers along each crater as she lit up
for him like a paper lantern
in the sky. His flamed limbs enveloping
her, his Luna. The arch of her back
against the backdrop of night, her fullness
intoxicating. After all this time, still burning for her.

When the sun was given hands, he cursed them
as he watched the moon crumble
into ash in the blaze. His hands were Rome
and he couldn’t stop the collapse, the ruins of her
scattered across his cupped palms. He prayed
to Moirai for revival, but all three gods
were silent. Choking back flames of fury, he tossed
his beloved into the black expanse, each flake still lit
with a passion to rebel the stars
that continue to burn with foolish hope.

You once told me about a painting you drew,
You told me there was a painting underneath
But when I asked of what,
You wouldn't tell me;
It was too soon.

Everything about you felt like an enigma,
Even though you bared so much of your soul to me,
Your secrets, your fears, your burdens,
And much like that painting,
I felt that I could only scratch the surface of you

You beautiful, mysterious creature,
Enshrouded in secrets,
Wrapped in riddles

I still wonder about that painting,
And what I would have learned
But you were a tome that I'll never finish,
Your pages left to be read by another,
Who would drink in your rich stories
And savor them like a prized wine aged by time and effort

And though I am merely a footnote in your storied history,
I am grateful to be associated with your name,
To have touched your life,
And have been there for you as I have

I carry an ocean of regret and longing,
Things I never got to say,
Before you went away,
But these streams of poetry
Slowly drain waters roiling,
While thoughts of you are gently boiling,
And time ticks by with every exhalation,
But this love has no expiration,
And I have no explanation,
And no expectation,
And this awful want knows no reason,
Growing no less with each passing season,
Like a virulent plague spreading,
And a dire end most dreading

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle—
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea—
What are all these kissings worth
If thou kiss not me?

I carry an ocean of regret and longing,
Things I never got to say,
Before you went away,
But these streams of poetry
Slowly drain waters roiling,
While thoughts of you are gently boiling,
And time ticks by with every exhalation,
But this love has no expiration

A kiss dissected,
A gentle worship of your mouth,
That warm place my lips called home