Constellations glazed her cheeks
And graced her button nose
Leo and Orion’s Belt
Penned in perfect prose

As if a brave astronomer
Had scooped up all the stars
Collecting bits of diamonds
In his cherished mason jars

He scattered them along the soul
Of the girl he deemed deserving
Poured out his containers on
This coruscating earthling

So that galaxies could dust her skin
And the universe could taste her
An interstellar miracle
Of flawless illuminators

Now we find the Milky Way
Engraved upon her skin
Supernovas radiate
A trail down to her chin

Every verse in twilight
Inscribed on this mere human
Dotted down her arms and back
Celestial contributions

So when she looks up to the heavens
To beaming lights of fascination
There’s never want or lack within her
For she is made of constellations

stars run ramped
taken for granted
chaotic formations
of constellations
the darkness beckons
the void threatens
to take what you love
Your freedom, like a dove

There's something about the poets

That leaves them wakeful

At midnight... and thereafter.


Perhaps it's because the blackness

Speaks like artful despair

Pitch dark

With just enough silvery input

From the stars

To perhaps stir up some inspiration.


Perhaps it's the romantics' glimmer of hope

As they hold their drooping eyes open

Wishing for the constellations

To write their stories for them.


Perhaps it's that those who feel alone

Fall in love with the moon

And her solitary beauty

So they search for ways to sing her praises

Before going off to cast their own light.


Perhaps these are some of the reasons why

Poets retire late

And rise later

Drawing funny looks

From the disciplined.


Perhaps it's not quite crazy --

In fact, it's quite normal

When you zoom in on a world full of wordsmiths

Churning out art beneath a blanket of dark.

Because sleep is not our muse --

Night herself is.

I said I'll meet you by the water
Just follow the path down the shore.
Follow me across the world,
to a place that's left unexplored.
We'll carve our names into the tallest tree,
reaching up towards the heavens and skies.
We'll count the stars as we leave,
to the other side of the island.
Drag a stick through the sand,
drawing tiny infinities.
and then we will sleep in the trees,
it's safe, trust me.
Look at the skies and watch the clouds roll by,
they were all ours.
We traced constellations with our fingers,
and talked in the language of the stars,
so they smiled back at us and sang us songs to sleep.
There is an island named after us.
A legend of a pariah duo.
Oh, the stories this place will hold.

Your lips burn like the sun
You hold stars in your finger tips
The world is in your palm
You walk on asteroids guided by the constellations that are braided into your being
The planets ring out for you
The earth keeps spinning your tune

Have I ever compared you to the stars?
Have I ever described your eyes in ways that resemble constellations?
Talk to me about time.
Talk to me about the universe
in all ways that I'll never be able to understand.
Spin me around like a clock and take me back in time
to the days when stars shined brighter than these city lights.

We don't have to say a word.
Make no noise, not a sound.
Let silence fill our ears.
Let the quiet take over the earth.
Let us float in this peace,
and enjoy the time we have together.

I had a dream, however insane, that we were dancing with the cosmos.
Twirling with the burning stars,
and playing hide and seek with the spaceships.

I know that you have to leave soon
and I know that stars don't burn forever,
but lay with me here on the ground.
We'll count sheep all night until
the sun greets us in the morning letting us know
that the night is dead and gone.

It's not my fault that I fell in love with the world in you.
I see so much life in you
and I think we should stay in this position forevermore.
We will never miss another darting star,
Whirling its way passed us breaking our silence just for a second.