I would be content to be a constant star,
or better still, a constellation
shining brightly in your nighttime from afar;
a trusted guide, an inspiration.

Inner motivation pushed me from my place
and sent me hurtling through the skies,
chancing an encounter with your whirling grace
and the shining smiling of your eyes.

Now not driven, only being drawn to you
by planetary force - not gravity,
but stronger still - the sight of someone being true,
the steady pull of honesty.

Plunging, reckless, through your atmosphere of care,
drinking in your warmth until I glow
and burst - a billion blooming wishes everywhere -
too briefly, brightly burning as I go.

I have been condemned to be a shooting star,
one who deals in days and not forevers.
Time too short to catch enough of who you are
to last throughout a thousand nevers.