Half silk, half steel—
you ride the lines between stars and gravel roads,
carving paths in bruises and brushstrokes,
with laughter that crackles like neon signs
in midnight cities I’ve yet to see.

You’re a riot of color and grit,
an aerialist suspended
between the weight of gravity
and the pull of the infinite,
turning chaos into choreography.

Your pulse beats in drumskins, in engines,
in the hush of forests,
where you hunt secrets in leaf and bone,
collecting the world’s oddities
like charms strung on a silver chain.

A rugby warrior,
yet soft as moonlight through rice-paper screens,
you blend fierce and playful,
the hellion and the muse—
wild enough to shatter the stars,
gentle enough to cradle them whole.

I wonder—
in the quiet moments,
do you trace the shape of constellations
across your own skin,
mapping where you’ll roam next?