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jee Jun 10
the celestial bodies may crash

and burn the sight from my eyes.

but I see you in my mind:

dancing through the galaxy.

and that gives me the right to eternity.

the black holes may swallow

and leave my chest hollow and dusted.

but I hear you in my head.

your voice carries across the empty nothing

and that gives me the right to eternity.

the universe may protest.

implode on itself.


but I can feel you, despite it all:

you’re made of thousands of years behind you.

you run on rocket fuel and pure moonlight.

you live among fragments of time past;

stardust, spaceships, and singularities.

you chose me to hold your solar systems and make sure they orbit.

so I’ll ignore the meteor showers and the wormholes

and cherish our interstellar dust.

because I hold the right to eternity

and I am a space to be reckoned with.
you can't take my right to eternity; I want to see you try. part three of the andromeda series.
jee Jun 10
you stitch me together with moon cotton;

stardust stuck between the threads.

you sew up my raw wounds

with your favorite constellations.

when I’m hurting,

you kiss my head

and intertwine the planets with my hair;

a daisy chain of celestial bodies.

you lay me down among the ghost town of rocket ships

and dead stars

and you whisper.

“darling,” you say,

“andromeda’s got nothing on you.”
the cradle of the galaxy holds us together; we're all dusted with cosmic belonging. part two of the andromeda series.
jee Nov 2019
she lies in the curve of the crescent moon,
breathing blue mist,
drunk from the falling summer sunlight.

her gaze is lidded and waxing.

her voice is a thousand crackling leaves,
landing all at once;
embers from a time-worn firework.

she tugs at the rope around the harvest
and drags him from the sun-baked soil;
his struggles shake apples from their trees.

the orange dawn light is hazy,
peeking through the ghosts
lingering on the horizon.

and all at once, the world falls into autumn’s grasp.
you may see her, winking at you through the equinox
jee Jul 2019
and you’ll see the moon,

reflecting off the light of the sun.

you’ll see the blushing sunset,

dancing around the skirt of the night canvas.

you’ll see the pinpricks of stars,

dead for years yet shining just for us.

you’ll see the one spot in the sky,

where the artist never finished painting

the galaxy around the planets.

the milky way runs patterns across your eyes,

and dyes your shadow a silvery glow.

we’re all looking up at the sky,


for what, we don’t know.

don’t worry,

I’m looking too.
my eyes yearn to see what my mind can not comprehend. part one of the andromeda series.
jee Jun 2019
love taps her walking stick to the walls of my heart,

keeping in time to the blood-rushing heat of my cheeks.

she knows what she wants,

and she doesn’t care who screams at her.

love stumbles when she wants to help,

and brightens with delight when she does.

like when his fingers brush mine,

or her lips are just the right shade of red.

love is deaf to shouts and cries,

no matter whose they are.

she only listens to the thrum under my skin,

alight with butterflies and blushes.

love is unreliable,

she’s broken-hearted,

and she’s fickle.

but above all,

love is blind and unrefined.

and she knows exactly what she wants.
love doesn’t care for your walls and boundaries. love is love, and love takes what she wants.
jee May 2019
it was all tendons;
an eyeful of baleful beating heart.

the grinding of bone on bone,
cymbals against the bloodlust melody.

rorschach in the red sheen.
kandinsky on the wall.

a crime of passion, they called it.

passion in the hartman hemisphere
and confidence in the nowak nerves.

da vinci in the veins; decorum.

and when the night air warms
with a rust colored sky,

my finger paintings brighten with shades of red.
see you in hell, darling
jee Apr 2019
i’m sorry to my future lover.

i think i’ve broken a heart that doesn’t belong to me.

a heart trapped by the ivory bars of my own rib cage.
i’m trapped under an unshakable carolina cloud, with loneliness as an old dog beside me.
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