I thought afar, yet never wandered.
Always saw that what I never watched.

For the distant blaze, I brought forth the horizon.
But, the landscapes turned to patchwork swatches all at once.

By Speare you drove your votives,
That which was a work of prose.
By reality, it was as an artist's pose
On a good kind of love.

For a lover is a writer,
Whether with ink & quill
Or lead & wood cylindrical.
For a lover is a writer,
Whether with chisel & stone
Or dynamite & the mountains.

Whether they write in constellations
Or draw in the sand on the beach,
Time it will take us.

For time, it shall take us.

But, in time,
Will there be that which is loving?

What say the scars unseen?

The deep peaks & valleys cut?
That which you etch
Without ever touching it?

Under the hush of midnight’s breath,
she walks—umbrella in hand,
not for the rain,
but to hold back the weight
of a thousand watching stars.

Constellations whisper
stories of love stitched in light,
but none are hers.
They shimmer like promises
just out of reach,
their glow a quiet ache.

Her heart, a silent ember,
burns beneath the ribs’ cage—
never flickering,
never fading,
only waiting.

She is flame wrapped in longing,
guarded not by stars,
nor shelter of hands—
but by solace,
the only canopy
that keeps her whole.

And still, she burns—
not wildly,
but patiently,
for the one soul
who'll one day walk
through galaxies
just to meet her


Erennwrites

If evidence is incrimination,
Then fleeting art is an exoneration.
Like pictures drawn in the sand,
Like lightning turning sand to glass;
As though a constellation were made from a man,
As though a mule became a golden ***.

For months I dreamed, (or so it seemed)
That I had lost Orion.
Eyes to the skies on summer nights,
Across the dark horizon.
I raked the skies, the hidden lines
To find that midnight archer.
And yet the stars, silent and far-
Did seem to grow much darker.

The Big Dipper
An asterism of the constellation
Ursa major
Seven bright stars that
Have been there
For the best and worst
Of my life that I can remember
Over the age 3
That is why I want to take a picture
Of the group of stars
As it has guided me through
Everything
Not just telling me where north is
To me the Big Dipper
Is proof of god and his/her will!
Tell me it’s just stars
And I will say that it is more than that it’s art

Beneath the vast and starry sky we lie,
Where galaxies in quiet splendor spin,
Each touch a comet streaking through the night,
As hearts collide and form a world within.

Our bodies merge like constellations bright,
Mapping the endless reaches of desire,
The space between, a universe alight,
Each whispered breath, a spark, a flare, a fire.

In this expanse, we drift from time and place,
No bounds to what our love can e'er explore,
Like cosmic waves that gently interlace,
We float through space, and ask for nothing more.

For in your arms, I’ve found my world, my sky,
A galaxy where love will never die.

If she were a celestial,
And I among constellations -
Then she would be the sun,
And I the moon.
Then I would be a star,
And her a heavenly angel.
Then I would beam brightly
At the mere presence of her.
Whenever needed,
Never receded
Neither eclipsed,
The light shone would be ours together
No matter the luminous object.
From the pledge of our marriage
There is a beauty so rapturous
In a love bathed to our family,
Fellow friends & strangers
To whom too are showered
In light of our joy & happiness.

suffocate through conversations
like drawing blood from a stone
misplaced faith in constellations
broken hearts and scattered bones
erase the faces, names, and places,
allow those distances to grow
forgive the people that i need
forget the people that i don't.
lest i tire of living alone -
take my hand, and read my palm
find where my falling star may land
i will comply with guiding lights
if i may find a better life

I’d craft you a poem, yet words may fall short,
To capture the joy, the laughter, the rapport.
The very essence of what sets you apart,
The moment we met, the joy in my heart.

Instead, gaze upon the night's starlit design,
Connect the dots, the constellations align.
A grand spectacle, yet a void unseen,
A tapestry incomplete, until you intervened.

Stand amidst the cosmos, in lunar glow,
The missing piece, the truth starts to show.
By now, you must surely know,
How your presence completes this poem I bestow.

i hate how you're so utterly perfect
i wonder if other people also notice it
how your scattered freckles mimic the stars
little dipper's tail has made home by your lips

i hate your contagious smile, that look in your eyes
for your perfect boyfriend and his indie rock band
i am no longer myself; i am hopelessly tossing coins
and wishing to hold a constellation in my hand