You are the sun and you are the moon;
I hold you to the highest regard
at every wake and at every sleep.
I miss you on the days I don’t rise,
but you always rise,
regardless of the weather.
I solely like rain.
I like the way your condensation
pours over me
when we are in between the sheets,
the madness of the storm between your pelvis,
thrusting thunder and lightning bolts into my bones
and I’m ignited with the blaze
you course through my body.
Your touch leaves me with
burn marks
trailing my thighs
to follow back into the bed
where we lay together
and it reminds me
I need the rain to so desperately put me out
when you set over the hills
and run away from me again.
You’re so different at night.
You’re cool and quiet, but you’re so cool.
You have the stars
and the comets
and the constellations
and the Milky Way,
but you choose my terrestrial body
every single time
you come out.
You remove clouds
and whisper through the stillness in the sunset
to bask in your luminescence with you,
just one more time,
the last time,
tonight.
With a sliver under my nose and above my chin,
I watch
the stars dance on you,
the comets open their legs for you,
the constellations bend over for you,
the Milky Way wrap her arms around you,
but you,
you are a constant and never move.
We hold our stare like the lights will go out
and I stand in the moon light with you
just to cringe in the sun with you
the next day
and the next day
and the next day
and the next day.
And we do this
and I keep a part of you
hanging on my lips,
the crescent that never fades.