Sky Full of Stars
He was a sky full of stars. He was so full of it that some of them hang from the tips of his long eyelashes that tilt up to the heavens, as if his eyes are long lost pilgrims that fall to their knees in prayer every time they close, brushing the sweet apples of his thrillingly flushed cheeks.
He’s a sky full of stars and it’s evident every single time your eyes meet his, like the entire cosmos reside in the sparkling pools of his beautiful brown orbs. His eyes are meteor showers the moment they’re alight with any kind of emotion; they shimmer with euphoria, glimmer with sadness, spark with anger, and positively twinkle whenever it’s directed at you.
He’s a sky full of stars and his mouth is the universe, and you are the lone astronomer that will ever get to explore it. The moment his rose-red lips part to bare the secrets of the existence and let you in, the sweet breath of his life slipping and mingling with yours as you stoop down to meet his kiss, it’s magnanimous and astral it rocks your world. You drink up his sighs and gasps, and it’s like feeling his starburst seep into your blood veins, the very essence of him tangling with yours, rendering you cosmic.
He’s a sky full of stars, and you’re willing to combust for him, to be inside him, to turn into shrapnel of the universe so you can be with him, one with him.
He’s a sky full of stars. And he’s absolutely, wondrously, beautifully made of them.