The way you look at me now is like I am something mythic,
A newly-fallen child of stars.
You slide your hand under my shirt and feel my heartbeat,
I lift your chin and your lips to mine,
As my leave I take.
This is what poets wrote of long ago,
And astronomers saw in maps in the sky.
The day and night are poised in harmony tonight,
The children, Apollo and Artemis, holding hands,
Still asleep in their mother's womb.
The Summer is gone and the Winter is still waiting,
The year has not yet started to walk.
How did I find you then, in a crashing sea of buildings?
In a night that was lit up like a hilltop at solstice.
When I turned I saw you standing,
An outline impressed on a wide, clear horizon.
A black shape against a lavender screen of sky.
Even now you are still moving,
Looking for a sound never heard before.
You wear the plain clothes of an orphan,
A streetpunk raised on tea and Dickens.
But I see you as Pan, one happy thought from flying away.
Second star on the right, then straight on 'til morning.
Your voice is a song from childhood as your hands pick wildflowers,
That you twist into a vernal wreath for my brow.
Even then you were growing wild, young and sharp as a broken mirror.
We were still young, looking up at the expanse of that eternal sky,
But now, those stars start to look closer than before.