(The sun’s pov)
I am the life, the light, the dawn—
burning bright, revolving endlessly.
I paint the skies, a vow to you:
We will meet when light and dark subdue.

I see you glow— how ethereal you are.
You have always deserved my radiance,
Setting the night sky ablaze with your light
A glimmer, quiet yet bright.

The stars, my siblings, ask of you:
‘Why do you and The Moon never meet?’
If only fate were kind.
The heavens would fracture,
Our love is almost cataclysmic.

I love you, but love is not enough.
I beg to stay—
Though our part is demanded.
Burning with light I lend you,
I yearn for a touch,
I can only give in the shadow.
Be it lunar or solar.

(The moon’s pov)
I rise as you fall,
Only glimpse I catch— a golden ring,
You set the sky ablaze, a burning promise,
Painting the horizon in shades of you.
Is it a letter left for me?
A vow that someday, we will meet again?

Yet, I am the echo of light left behind.
I shine for you, hoping you’ll notice me.
Do you ever watch as I light up the sea,
or does your fire outshine me endlessly?

The stars murmur our names.
watching me rotate, watching you revolve.
Questioning our distance,
Yet if we did— if our worlds aligned,
Wouldn’t the cosmos tremble?

I long to meet you— I long for an eclipse.
glowing in the light I borrow.
Yearning for a touch,
I’ll only taste in shadow—
be it lunar, or solar.

I had been staring at corporate blocks of incestuous dual notation, rippling within a multitudinous sea horn. Many of my skins partook in the abuse of subterfuge in order to forget the sea horns. We would head into the night, deep into oblique dens of solitary apparition, conjuring that which had plagued our mental cognition.

With cascading light festering, lurid transcendence of encumbered paralysis began. Physical forms traversing innumerable alleyways of dread, between concrete moulded into the shape of modernity and cables transpiring towards opaque operating systems which would import and export our collected consciousness for the trade of gelatinous brain matter, had overcame us.

Sliding into abyssal-black tar of stroking, crawling, writhing primal sludge; subsequently escaping through pores of sweat coagulation, allowing silk-woven experience to be spun within a lair of manifestation, coinciding with visions of mutilation.

I am the sun, I energize your day.
I speak expressly to the humid air;
'dry up for a day that is bright and fair.'
I command moisture to dry the lush hay
for non-ruminants to be well nourished.
I am ageless, and I am distinguished.
My golden rays have living things enriched,
my yellow rays induce the labourer's sleep,
having toiled so hard for his family's upkeep.
The flower smiles at my usual advances,
and with her fixed gaze, she makes no glances.
My loving rays speak with no utterances.

The day flourishes with my assistance,
as I serve from my celestial distance.
My service to you, none else can replicate.
Without me, life-form will from the earth vacate.