Haven’t brought myself to acknowledge the most obvious of odes;
to you being there and
my being unknown.
Obnoxious as an understatement unaffiliated with clothes of the argument, written as a statement of bare skin.
I held onto octaves, afraid once autonomous, they would wear my smile like you did,
and I would be here,
approximately opposite you;
Andromeda to your Earth, taste of rock
bottom just to
balance your worth.
Inertia of certainty,
but if fires don’t resurrect the beasts of darkness,
cold will want
a word with me.
Thus, you may remain and though I venture near you, we’re still
light years apart, in body
to the other.
Under midnight skies to young lovers, one
and many thousands more.