The way you dress is how you greet the sun and other stars.

Why didn't you write all this time?Did you not remember us in a song?A dance?In the skies littered with stars?Did you not get drunk?Why didn’t you write all this time?Did you not remember us in a film?A book?In idyllic dusks and dawns?Did you not get high?It is good that you didn't.For all is well. I am drunk and dazed.I have already forgotten youand your bewitching ways.

If your mind can move mountainsand swallow gods,Why does it worry with helpless yesterdays and unborn tomorrows?If it can vomit starsand walk on split hairs,Why must it follow the samepath to despair?Everyone will tell you:'An orgasm here is just as good.

I have drunk the night and swallowed the stars. I am dancing with abandon and singing with rapture. There is not a thing I do not love. There is not a person I have not forgiven. I feel a universe of love. I feel a universe of light. Tonight, I am with old friends and we are returning home. The moon is our witness.

The greatest thinkers have attempted to find who we are where we come from and why we are here but the greatest enigmas to me are how your hair is a lasso that captures the stars how your eyes are lakes that drown my doubts and how your skin is the sun bursting all at once. If I knew these answers I’d know everything for you alone contain the entire universe.

Poetry is seeing everything when there is only one thing. It is looking at a rose but seeing the stars, moons, seas, and trees. It is a truth beyond logic, an experience beyond thought. Poetry is the Earth pausing on its axis in order to manifest itself as a rose.

Tell me where the swans go in the winterI need to know if the mute ones can sing.Tell me why stars fall from the skyI need to know if it is luck they bring.Tell me why feathers land near youI need to know if you've injured your wing.Now, tell me where you end, my angelFor I no longer know where I begin.

If only we studied the stars as much as we study our own reflections.