the planets have always envied you-
it’s the way your hips orbit suns greater than the ones they carry in their arms.

they call you a strange creature of the night as they watch you tear through words at the speed of light, tumbling over stars that never die.

the sun shoots jealous flares when the night rolls around
and you tangle my body into a warmth deeper than he could ever provide.

your lips trigger earthquakes along the fault lines of my hips. shake, shake, shake until i fall sweet, soft, gentle for you.

my body is home to a million constellations. ones you traced with the rough parts of your thumb. illuminated, electrified.

we love in galaxies. we love like astronauts pioneering our way through ultimate unknowns. we love with infinities pouring from our fingertips.

if you watch the stars at night, i will hold your hand and let you long for the mystery of the sky. if you do not see the universe inside you-
i do.

so as you gaze up at your universe another night,
know that i will be longingly looking at mine.

Just because you don’t say much doesn’t mean people don’t notice you. It’s actually the quiet ones who often draw the most attention. There’s this constant whirlwind of motion and sound all around, and then there’s the quiet one, the eye of the storm.

I am not this hair, I am not this skin, I am the soul that lives within.

People do not seem to realise that their opinion of the world is also a confession of their character.