Beneath the canvas of the night,
My fingers trace the arc of the stars above;
their gentle glow recalling the shape of you,
as if the sky mirrored your grace.

Orion rises, bold and timeless,
its figure echoing your silhouette,
an hourglass carved by light and shadow,
each star a freckle, a scar, a wrinkle in time.

I let my fingers slowly drift,
connecting these celestial points,
as if by touch I might reveal
the world’s most sacred design;
your beauty woven among the stars.

Though the sky holds you just beyond my reach,
still I trace away, mapping your constellation,
forever etched in the motion of the cosmos,
where even distance cannot dim the shine of your light.

— Sincerely, Boris