From the open windows,
where the navy coloring
of the darkness bestow
its kisses to your cheeks,
Elysian luminaries call
and whisper your name
like they wait for you.

The jewels buoyantly
weeping tears
for your arrival,
they beckon you
to come closer
to their heat;
to their light.

For your reach
against the night sky
was much too poor
to touch something
worthy of thousands.
You strain,
you spend your energy
and your time—
fruitless, to no avail.

Alas, not a ray
blessed you with
its warmth against
the crevices of your skin;
left for the cold,
deep within the
abyssal cavities of
this tenebrosity.

Though the crickets
sung to you their songs,
the world in your wake,
was asleep—
alone with the chirps,
solitary in your
vast quietude.

But you wonder,
no matter the slumber
taking place on the
opposite side
of your colossal
sphere of wind
and earth,
if the bodies
baring themselves
in that navy empire
slept too.

Were they dreaming
of silk and ashes,
buried under
and over their flesh,
like it had been
the only clothing
to adorn themselves?
Were they having night
terrors, picturing
macabre savagery,
within the crimson,
into the fear of their
own capabilities?

In that shallow stream
of delicate business,
where the stars
suspended—
still charming
you to their comfort:
evergreen,
and rich—
only you could see
the small flickers
of red.

The rustic hue
you called Mercury;
did she see you?
Did her celestial body
note duly of your
admiration,
of your gleam;
did she see you?

The navy
caressed your nose,
your lips,
in a loving murmur.
It made the hairs
on your arms stand,
and sent waves into
the linkage of your spine.
But Mercury—
she saw you.

She bore the entitlement
to the very core
of her bewitching ways.
And in her sleep,
she dreamt of you—
with skin like stained glass,
with eyes of porcelain,
with lips of marble tile:
unlike yourself,
but beautifully fragile.

And there again,
you and Mercury,
the crickets and navy,
speaking wordlessly
of your thoughts
and your worries,
for hours like
lightyears.

But in the
blackened void
of the unknown,
she was the star.
And only she could
ponder the idea
of what you dreamt of.
Of what could only occur
in Mercury’s sleep.