Extra-terrestrials

Stars dance upon the midnight cloak

that coats your soul,

the inter-celestial conveyor belt

that brings your soul to me.

Your divinity

shines bright in the night sky.

A mirror of my dreams

flicker across the horizon

when I close my eyes.

A lone lighthouse illuminates

and arouses any part of me

caught in reverie.

Your steady flame exposes

uncharted labyrinths

of my being.

I speak to the lone wanderer of distant galaxies,

a celestial body of exalted emotional permeability,

that transcends zeniths of passion that our flesh

could never reach.

Gates to the core of my essence,

only you could ever breach.

You preach hopes of wonder,

revolution, and possibility,

like fallen diamonds on the shores

of every beach.

You release any ties

to any tangible concepts

of this world,

that crumbles at your feet,

falls prey to your

intergalactic speed.

Your light ever so bold

peaks between the cracks of coal

that rests between worlds and realms,

where only our astral selves can meet

and breath.

Thunder precedes our lust,

cracks of lightning,

fleeting moments,

follows your thrust.

Extraterrestrial titans,

we seem to be,

battling between tides of fantasy

my shore crashes against yours,

wrestling against what

our souls endlessly pour.

Your lips push me beyond depths,

you boldly chose to ignore.

Soar, soar, soar,

until the inferno

emblazes the smoldering

remnants of your

primordial core.

The gore!

The tears in my eyes

boil at the sight of your remorse.

The fleeting emotions you spoke

from the gashes in your throat,

spray and eject

harmoniously across the

endless sky that carries

the birth, the life,

And death of the now

setting sun.

Like Icarus you'd perish in your own glory,

and I'd drown in the typhoons and tsunami

of my deepest worry.

But your grasp, a petrified root

wraps around me.

A sacred tree of knowledge

the hunger that my soul

eagerly chooses to climb.

I no longer fear

the fall that waits.

At this time,

our blossoming desire,

even in our prime

still feels like such a crime.

If only we could

Surrender to the rush that binds us,

to glorify the sublime,

to roam just beyond the cusp,

of internal angst that confines

our longing that is always

destined to rust

so long as we're held to trust.

I resign, I bow to the distant shrine

that succeeds us.

(all in good time)