This must be the universe, I think.
I think I speak its' tongue.
The wisps of my stardust soul float above me, toward the sky.
Leaping, bounding, my heart follows soon after
your warm fingertips brush my neck.
You plant roots in my bones, my ribcage is a garden.
You anchor me to the cool midnight sand
on the beach of a foreign land.
White noise waves drift past my ears,
The mist surrounds me like the vapor of the clouds
in which your voice has me sinking.
The stars have embodied the legends, the myths.
They dance through the ink-stained sky
like kaleidoscopes have covered my eyes.
Your lips drip with the magma of the mountains;
They taste orange like that song that you wrote.
The magic traces its way up my spine,
Climbing the vine that encircles my vessel.
I can see everything
Like I was falling sideways in a dream.
You must be the universe, I think.
I think I speak your tongue.