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To Be Draped Across the Sky

Inside me, a night pulses—

not with absence, but with embers.

Each thought a glimmering mote

drifting slow through the dark

architecture of marrow and memory.

I carry constellations not in skin,

but behind the ribs, arranged in chords

only silence can sing.

And yet—

This body is too narrow

for what flickers behind my eyes.

The starlight jostles, flares, seeks exit.

Let me burst— not into flame,

but into fabric: filaments of self threading

the sky where no sky had been.

Let my quiet blaze unfurl outward:

an aurora learned from solitude,

a drape of everything I dared to hide.

Let lovers lie beneath it

and think it weather.

Let astronomers name its folds.

Let the sea reflect it,

unafraid to shimmer back.

For what begins in the chest

must not end there.

Every inward brilliance longs

to become covering —to become sky.

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