Count them rays, surrounding a muse in a form of duality
Of fulfillment in distant opposites within your sights’ vacancy
Of an unrequited round of tag made to kiss & defy an impossibility
The star in hopes to inspire, surrounding in 6 as compassion & empathy
For it can’t be plucked, without your faith in such unwanted sensitivity
The moon, the cancer, a calm ruler in the throne of my insecurity
Loving despite illusions made by the subconscious of my anxiety
The sun, XIX, the date I was born in, a card of warmth & positivity
Cradling a fruitful abundance within the creativity in my melancholy
"What will happen if the sun instead tried to kiss the moon.
Dawn creeps along with desire as they brush a moment too soon.
As she was the biggest star one could've imagined to ever swoon.
If they were to kiss, I doubt that we'd still be humming our usual tune”
Based on a self-proclaimed fluency in tarot cards & constellations full of prophecies
On a short prose dear for I’ve read them in front of my two idols in spoken poetry
And on endless abstract metaphors shared in conversations between you & me
Oh what an age, a state to be in, a mess embraced continuously in the name of vulnerability.
--
“...And I can’t say it to you like the way you show love to me,
Maybe it’s too dark to see in my closet as the sun jumped her leap of faith
To find out the expectation is a naught full of dreams.
The sun blackened out, showing the true sorrow underneath -
That the moon will always be the moon and the chase will keep on living until the end of time.”
too wrote he, another meaning to this that was once perhaps a form of sorry.
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