Tell me how can you fit an entire universe in your eyes.
How can the twinkle of the three hundred billion stars settle down in your smile?
Why do you cry galaxies
and sweat planets?
I'd prefer to have a meteor shower instead of butterflies
fluttering in my stomach.

Every hour,
every mile we roam,
wandering,
admiring the moon
while it follows us to take care of her commune.
For the stars in your eyes,
the asteroids in your stomach,
the whole universe you let out in every one of your chuckles.

You're not just a whole sky,
you're more than galaxies.
And I can't fathom
how someone so astonishing
could fancy a pure mortal.
With no twinkle in her eyes,
no galaxies when she smiles.
Not even a hint of magic,
would make her out of this world.

And the rays of sun
you stand below,
that make you glow beautifully,
would only make her eyes hurt.
For she will never be a child of the sun,
nor daughter of the moon.
Who's love is as impossible as ours.
Now that,
when the sun is alive,
living to its fairest,
the moon would die to let him shine.
And viceversa,
the sun would vanish,
for every one of the moons sparks
in a speck of time.

So you gleam.
Full of universes.
Full of light.
And she glooms.
Full of space.
Full of darkness.
Craving you,
seeking for your stars.
But she'd never forgive herself
if she dimmed your constellations,
or wiped away your planets.
Not even steal a single meteor from your stomach.

She'd rather turn away
than drag you to the void.
For she knows,
the sun would never feel the same anymore.
Your soul from outer space
would rot into a pit,
and she wouldn't scrape away your happiness,
not even for meteors in her stomach.