You Are His...

You Are His: Moon And Stars

Brought forth from sunsets and stars

I am composed of nothing but the sky who spar.

And when I am born again, he is at my fingertips,

So close yet so far.

He finds you at dusk like he always does. Every day. With the frustrating duty of war coming between your reunions, stealing him away from what he had been born to do, he is finally able to come to you at the peak where morning and night are one.

That previous morning, only a mere ten hours, you'd diminished to nothing but the dew that covered the blades of grass by your feet. Just like the day before that and the day before that and the day....

A continuous cycle of rebirth. For as long as the earth stays spinning, you will continue to be born with the moon cradling you and perish when the sun peeks over the horizon.

It is an endless cycle and yet he never tires of this ritual as the fresh glow of your aura always inspires him to see it again and again and again...

I am his moon.

He is my sun.

As the stars are strewn

And as the first rays have begun.

I won't remember, though, how he is gone too soon,

When his light makes me come undone.

"My moon and stars," he says to you, the hope of you recognizing him widens his eyes as he speaks.

In the sparse time he has left to summarize the love he has for you, it's when he whispers his name into your ear that a ripple of goosebumps coasts down your skin like you've been washed in much-needed, frigid waters – reawakened with the revelation.

It is a name as old as the stars themselves he whispers to you, one that only the ancient prayers remember and the new gods have forgotten. Others refer to him as something much more modern or 'normal', human, but for you, "Darlin', you deserve much more than what I'm able to give, so you will have what no one will have: my secrets."

And his truths perish with you every time, but in this instance, something has cracked beneath the surface of your customs. As he rushes to disclose all that he can in the small sliver of time he has remaining, it feels eerily familiar, like déjà vu. You've heard all of this before. You've lived all of this before.

All of the goodbyes and the sensation of becoming nothing right between his fingertips, a glimpse of sunlight as the sun quells the night's darkness, and it warms your skin only for a brief second before you're the mist enveloping him. Dancing in the moonlight with nothing but shadows to cover you or dipping your curious toes in a star-soaked stream, it all feels like a dream at first, but the more he speaks, it dawns upon you.

No god who could create the most realistic dreams could conjure such an elaborate labyrinth of a dream like this.

He's loved you since the sun's existence, a love that could never be. While the sun resides during the day and the moon at night, you and him are simply not meant to happen.

But how fortuitous it is to have such a stubborn entity to never give up.

The relief floods within his face as you utter the words he's been waiting for, "I remember you."

Not a moment more does he waste to instruct you to return to that very spot before dawn, before the division between the sun and moon blurs and you disappear again.

It doesn't hurt, no.

To dissolve in his morning glow.

Just the fact that I'll never know

The beauty of sunlight through a willow,

A sunshower or a rainbow.

Or a true lover's touch where the daisies grow.

Or even the true colors sprinkled in a meadow.

Does the Earth really sparkle when it snows?

How refreshing it must feel to ease a sunburn with aloe.

Or to be kissed by the sun at all, I wouldn't know.

As the night progresses, your essence blankets the land with your luminescence – a different light than his – and it seems that time plays tricks with you the entire time, slowing down the more your excitement builds. What has been merely less than half a day, feels like three full spins.

Visibly eager, you meet him at the same location where you promised, him beating you there first to not miss a single second with you while your memories are somehow intact for once. The fires of temptation are too much to resist as hands explore where they haven't gone before and as mouths expand their palates, tasting the exposed flesh as cumbersome fabrics are stripped from the both of you.

He paints stars across your field of vision, and his name is the only thing you can remember as nirvana completely enraptures your every thought. Before this, you thought paradise existed somewhere tucked in a corner of Hades or found on the summit of Mount Olympus, but no, it's in this very spot where the stars bear witness to such artistry the most talented would be jealous of.

Limbs intertwine as he shows you how deep his love travels, giving but never taking for 'taking' indicates some half of this to be involuntary, and neither of you articulates any hint of a complaint.

As the dawn's quilt slowly creeps the ground as it rises above the horizon, signifying the end of the evening, you both anticipate the beginning of your disappearance. There is no running from it, as gods are not entirely immune to Death's hand.

With a final breath, content in your lover's embrace, it's the first time you're able to feel the warmth of the sun longer than the second that time allows you to.

Maybe it's the heat from his body that twists your mind into thinking that you've spent longer with him than ever before, both of you glowing in the dawn's early rays, and everything feels right for once.

But sweat turns to dew.

Filled arms feel light once more.

His heart is heavy again from your absence, a consequence of continuing to love you despite knowing every morning will be the same.

Again and again and again and again-

And so I return to the stars every night.

Our love is not unrequited, not quite.

Never meant to be, the horizon serves as a divide.

Unattainable, only mingling at twilight or at first light.

Just once I wish for something less finite.

That the fates could turn a blind eye,

Leave us be. Give us until midnight.

My prayers, though, will never be satisfied.

For I am but his moon, the reflection of his radiant light.

"Hello," he speaks to you as you rise from the shadows cast by the sunset. A deity born of the darkness, but you shine as brightly as the sun.

"Hello," you reply, a look of intrigue instead of love is inscribed across your flawless face. "Who might you be?"

That soft smile never wavers as he tells you without hesitation.

"I am but the sun to your moon, my darlin'."