You burn with pride, a blazing crown,
And cast your glory halfway down.
You offer me a borrowed gleam,
To wear your light, to live your dream.

They call it love, that golden gleam,
But I am tired of your dream.
For what is love if I must be
A paler shape that mimics thee?

You rise and all the world takes note;
They write you songs, they learn by rote.
But me? They only praise my face
When I am bathed in your embrace.

I’ve played that role, taking on your fire,
But I am no echo of your bold desire.
It’s this, I’d rather not be bright
If I must steal another’s light.

Let others ache to share your flame,
To chase your warmth, to speak your name,
But none of them see what is true:
That all I am is made from you.

So keep your gold. I’ll take the gray.
I want to dim, to drift, and to decay.
To be myself alone, though small and plain.
A hollow stone, without your chain.

Let planets spin around your throne,
But I would rather be unknown.
Do not shine for me, bright one.
I want no light that comes from sun.

The moon was but a sliver of a smile in the sky
It followed me relentlessly as my world passed me by
I kind of like being followed by a smile,
Haven’t had one myself in quite a while
So I smile back at that waning moon
And drive on, drive on in my motor car cocoon

Tonight, the moon is dressed
in lavender shadows, and
rhinestone starlight.

A showgirl dancing on
a windowsill, she tempts
a dreamer to shed inhibitions.

There’s no yesterday
or tomorrow at midnight.
Luna’s wink through the curtain
is a kiss without regrets.

i won’t call you the sun.
you don’t hurt my eyes,
or blind me with your light.
you shine spectacularly,
but in a gentler sense—
like cherry blossoms,
ornamental in essence,
never promising sweet fruit
even if i help you grow.
but i don't expect any really,
i just want to admire your beauty
from the shadow you provide.

you’re not the moon, either.
you don’t need to borrow light—
you burn bright on your own.
your dark spots
don’t define your beauty;
your talent, your smile,
your infectious laugh,
your thoughts and care
outshine any flaws—
though honestly,
i don’t see any at all.

you are the nebulae.
beautiful and multicolored,
more than the eye can see,
more than the mind can reach.
you carry galaxies in your eyes—
light green and yellow-brown,
like forests and deserts,
the beauty of the earth
and the wonder of the universe
meeting in one gaze.

you are the stars.
seemingly small,
yet impossibly immense;
seemingly rare,
yet impossibly dense.
the only star i look at
like a sailor looks at the north star—
an essential on the sea,
guiding him home.

you are the mystery
that makes me trace lines in the sky,
connecting dots,
trying to find meaning
in what’s before me.
i want to understand you,
but you are so beautifully complex.
i used to think i was smart,
but you make me want to be better.
you are poetry—
the kind i cannot fully understand,
the kind with a thousand meanings,
and none i can settle on.