You are a star in a sky I have not seen,
you are a drop of rain in a hundred deserts
because walking in the rain can be fun
with ice cream and an umbrella, no?
Your voice plants bits of light under my skin,
your slender frame and well-styled hair
have me wanting more.
You are some kind of fire that speaks
the same language as my Earth– the one
with floating flowers and talking sponges,
the one where Reggie Rocket gets us in trouble
and girls kiss girls at midnight in brightly lit squares
and everything is alright.
Because I’d want to call you baby.
Because, hell yeah, I’d make love to you and I’d fuck you
but do you seriously think I could do one without the other?
You’ve got me smiling ear to ear, wanting more of your story,
your moments, your rush because I know you’ve felt it, too–
with some lucky woman in another room,
where you lit only candles and talked in only whispers.
I would never be quiet about you, unless you wanted me to.
And I can sing your praises now, my mysterious friend,
but you deserve more than words. They do not do you justice.
To your sexy eyes and smooth skin, your laugh bouncing off
subway cars and driveways and street lamps– I wish I could
dance along with it forever, and I’d be willing to,
if it meant having you.
I put you up on a pedestal because that’s where you belong.
Your style is bad ass and your humbleness is hot and your words
have me wanting more, more…because for all your physicality,
I could listen to you speak, no sight, no vision, for days.
You are a star and a sun
because, of course, there was never any difference.
Expect that there is only one sun,
among many stars,
and how lucky I am to get to soak you in at all.
January 29, 2019