STARDUST

I feel the soft pull of her light even before I open my eyes. A caress-like wave that pours itself over my feet and legs, slowly making its way towards my chest and neck. I wonder if you feel it as well given that your arm is carefully resting on my waist, the tips of your warm fingers grazing my navel, tuning themselves to my breathing, your hand slightly closed as if holding a thread of my spirit yet open enough for you to never tame me in spite of the past few weeks—months, really—where I've allowed myself to be bathed by your attention and care, a web of feelings and emotions I feel empowered by tonight more than ever. I didn't even have to suggest it. The moment you learned the night sky was to be nuanced by the blood moon, you immediately came up with it all: the dinner on the balcony, the faint piano melody in the background, the gorgeous roses on the bed—everything carefully planned by your innocent enthusiasm, ready to declare your love at last. And boy did you declare it, alternating it with my name as our limbs got lost in the sheets, promises echoing from one wall to another, our touching fused in one single expression of passion and lust, and you being completely unaware of how your words have sealed our fate together. Fully awake now, the glow increases, entering through the balcony and unhurriedly extending itself over the bed and my body like your arms did hours before. I can hear her voice now, edging me on. I look at you, blissfully exhausted, so secure in your love. A subtle smile decorates your lips. Such a pity to waste you like this, but then comes my hunger, the kiss I'm condemned to give every time my mistress calls me back home, my playful time on earth coming to an end the same way life escapes your veins with the last sigh we share. I wonder if that is what everyone means by dying out of love. If death by love feels as tender as this, my body dissolving into stardust, ready to be lifted once more by the pull of her mist.