I fell for him, not in whispers or sighs,
But in crescendos, in rhythms, in skies
Painted with notes that danced in the air,
Each song a thread of the love we’d share.

He wasn’t just music—he was the sound,
The hum of the earth, the pulse underground.
A genre, a chord, a tune soft and true,
Would echo his soul, would carry his hue.

But now he is gone, and silence remains,
A hollow refrain, a ghost in the strains.
Yet when music plays, I’m drawn to the year,
I search for a sign he might have been near.

Did he hum this tune? Did he hear this beat?
Did it brush his soul? Was it his retreat?
The thought is a comfort, though bittersweet,
A harmony bridging where life and death meet.

For love like this does not fade away,
It lingers in songs, in chords that replay.
So I listen, I wonder, I dream him alive,
Through melodies where his spirit survives

I have tried to
chart and compass
exactly where I have strewn
the pieces of my love.
I find them trapped
in the constellations
and collages of
long past photographs.
A wandering mind
is never at home,
and I'm afraid
I have forgotten mine.
I still find myself lost
somewhere between
Orion and Pleiades -
on the chase for
a simple kind of love.
But here I am,
stretched over millions of miles
in a direction I cannot grasp.

Take my hand,
and let me show you
what peace you may find
among the rolling ocean.
You have charted your way
from galaxy to more,
now use your compass
to rediscover the pieces you have
let fall from the skies above.
I have used your guiding light
to steer my vessel
into yet untamed waters
for years.
I have dropped anchor
and loved many for long and still,
but I travel on
always leaving parts of myself
trapped in the soggy pages
of the past.
Let us not lose ourselves in
the moments we have left behind.
Instead let us forge ahead
in fiery rapture
across the ever-changing sea
and the ever-burning stars
to chase Poseidon
into the depths
together.