I would re-name the planets after galaxies in your eyes.
The stars finally know what it feels like to burn with envy.
There are constellations tracing the soft skin of your back.
Following dips and curves, I would draw maps with *******
of everything that matters.

Freshman science taught us about untouched miracles;
and just like that-
the ultraviolet cosmic phenomenon
fixed us to spiral arms in far-away planetary
nebulas, like the ringed Cat’s Eye.

The milky skies whispered
so that only we could hear,
"Heaven's dust will fall"
You feared last night you could hear the earth
cracking under the weight of the universe,

paralyzed with a crippling guilt
you'll only see the stars after they've died.
Neighboring nova would spectate
our telescopic wavelengths-
needing the prisms to reflect on

our kaleidoscope refractions.
No matter the efforts of a tangible spectrum,
one could never quite touch our frequency.
Between lazy and lively,
our whitecap love remained visibly invisible.  

Our infrared vessel to space, raced clusters of runaway stars
past post-distant intergalactic bodies,
shooting through beasts, astrologies, gods.
We window shopped stellar bursts of dust clouds
above our clouds, a gravity shelter.

Meteors became our faithful companions
glowing gassy flowers of dusty debris.
The pressure (we couldn’t touch) generates combustion;
atoms gazing psychedelic pinks, greens,
soothing tones of aquamarines.

Ever since then you've been the glittering
black hole, heaving me in.
The only thing I’m able to taste is  
the way your luminous Milky Way kiss
gives gifts of halos to terrestrial light rays.

But the flavor of your lips are the
battalions inspiring the star shining front lines-
Integrity a marathon taking laps
to the moon
to Pluto and back, the long way.

Blizzards of stars rewrite our language
in the moon beams,
guiding us past lost letters to Pluto.
How do you sleep among dancing stars
while the rest of the universe watches?

I made my home in your eyes
and you made your home in the sky.

Amanda's Hunger

She has a habit of wandering off,
Whilst being in one place.
She'd be staring out the window
Manipulating what she saw,
Into what she wanted it to be.

"I'm hungry"
She'd say, mid mindless gazing,
Only it was rarely for food
But rather for exploration,
Discovery and experiences.

Her soul starved
Of authentic auras that warm you,
Of colliding chords that form aching symphonies,
Of chaotic creations by everyone and anyone,
Of galaxies that we are made from,
Of the beauty she longs to see.

And in these times,
Where her mind is everywhere else,
I imagine she is there where she belongs
With her chaotic people,
Blaring symphonies,
Clashing souls,
Expressive creations,
The Galaxy she is deserving of.

There is an entire universe
inside her head. And I'll be
kidding myself if I say I am
beginning to understand her,
when all I've ever done is just
catch a glimpse of the galaxies
within, through her eyes.

Now, despite having nebular
thoughts, what I know is that
I will neither fully grasp what's
going on in there nor will I ever
fathom the simplicity and
complexity of her soul.

But that's okay.
I'll love her, anyway.

I asked the sky,

"Why do people always leave?"

It darkened and answered,

"Because you deserve the universe,"

the galaxies turned bright,

"but they're just stars."

If only we could visualize

The land mines,
Which cause us to fail each time

That tick
Unknowingly
Falling in line
Of the steps I take
Toward — “I’m fine.”

Nothing,
No nothing
Could cause me more joy
Then to know,
Just know
Where my pain will go

Where it will source
Will be
Like scabs —
Bleeding on me,
Unhealed

Picked, infected
And inflamed.
The inner light which guides me
Just a dim piece of shame

Nothing to show
To be
Or to hide

I will once again call to you
To be my ride.
Thru galaxies,
Confusion
Through tears and fallen wishes
Stars
And scars,

Eating away at my beating heart.

But I begin anew
A start
To something a lot deeper
Than land mines,
Scabs,
Galaxies,
And Hearts.