Fleeting November clouds-
stained with red wine,
fill the sky like one-hundred
crystal glasses,
finally spilling onto the white cloth-
of the Earth's winter table.

If you join me on a journey
with no destination in mind,
I will know I have found love in you,
because neither of us are there
for the end of the road,
but rather the end in each other.

Mother Nature spilled the night's sable ink
across my lovers hair,
matching it to heavens dark arch
above.
So as to not waste such wonderful
beauty born of accident,
stars were sprinkled into her eyes,
and the cosmos fit into her spirit.

Love is the way the sun
plays the golden harp of
the Earth,
one million strings at once,
as it sets and lights the horizon's-
hills ablaze.

No cosmos nor atom is infinite,
so we are told all ends.
Yet the spirit within  you,
is the infinite within the finite.
You are a universe never ending,
expanding forever inwards,
as space rushes the other way.

As objects retreat from view
they grow smaller in my eye,
yet as the distance gathers between
you and I
it's as though you're all I can see.

Come with me on this cobblestone river,
to make happy our new-found days,
and fill our hearts with the art-
of each other's eyes,
and the song of our endearing words.

My daydreams of you
are that of daybreak cotton skies,
fleeting and unobtainable,
yet breathtakingly vivid.
It's as though heavenly harps,
singing their crimson morning light,
have your name floating among them,
basking in the wine-stained clouds above.

Your eyes are pearls,
washed with sweet sea-foam
from sugar-water seas,
and cast upon velvet shores
of sterling sand.

Your absence feels like glass-
hands, unseen,
but not un-felt.
The gentle touch of your transparent-
love, shocks,
like ice-lightning.

No distance is too far,
for two longing hearts.
After all,
the kiss of sunlight
still grows fields of flowers.
And in this moment,
thinking of you,
my heart is in full bloom.

The sun and my heart both beat,
the sun on the horizon
day after day
rising and setting,
and my heart,
within my spirit
beating forever
to the rhythm of the love within me.
Two drums beating,
for two different
but no lesser causes.

Your words cut deep,
drawing ink from my wound,
that drips onto the page-
running down the paper,
spelling out screams as it flows-
turning from red to black,
and cold
and dry
as dust.

Darling for you I'd pour the Milky Way
from the sky onto the page,
because only with every star
could I even begin to shed enough light
on the description of the Galaxy
in your eyes.