This is where I will love you,
from the waves of your storms,
and the echoing wind from the east,
they are no anchorage,
but the way you sound—
it was close to home.

Because truth is darling,
your brokenness is the place
where I am going to stay—
forget the unburning cigars
you left on my lips—
it burnt me off to the
patches of your kiss,
the swirling black holes
you have tug on my chest—
all warm with the rainfall of
chrysanthemum petals.

This is where I will love you,
no sunrises or moonfall—
it does not entangle with
star-written poetry
you took halfway,
the late-night drive
that ends with
laying down on
your chest or
the subway walks
that we ended up
chasing the moon.

darling, this is where I will love you,
from the ends of your fall,
to the last bit of your
sunsets.

the sky has fallen down a night deity
where the sole of your eyes down to your
chest would be nothing but spaces of black holes
nor moonbeams trying to gasp for darkness,
darling, you have exhaled the moon and
maybe part of it is the stars they have long for,
perhaps, part of us is a universe trying to
soothe the moonstruck you have
played inside your rib cage.

But we were a galaxy after all,
none of it is as deep as us.