the sequin specked sky and cobalt blue is seamed with beige piano notes this nightfall, whirling around the cafe

his cappuccino hair capers with the wind, mahogany brown eyes flicker with sheen as he flips the cafe CLOSE

the freckle undeneath your chin gleams against your skin. oh, he looks like a DREAM. i've confessed to him all my dreams except him

"what is the constellation on your beret?"

"i drew orion with cassiopeia."

i swear your cassiopeian tattoo gleamed

✡

you draw cassiopeia on the gray tabletop with london ink just like you've them on infinite tea lattes and cheesecake

you look like a space artist, your fingertips flecked with sirius and , your paintbrush made of the aureate andromedean nebulae

i watch you as you write underneath the constellation,

"i've always dreamed

of writing poetry."

"why don't you?"

"the words slip from

my fingertips like the

constellations

from the nyx."

"do you- do you want to

write poetry with me?

your eyes, the color of coffee, look astral nebulous. your fingers halt around the paintbrush

"i—i'd love to."

✡

you write in prussian blue on the beige wall, words of the otherworld, of the universe, conversations of space dust

you look like a dream, i in the poetry i scribble on my heart

you write,

the symphony of an unheard cafe chemistry of beige cream and brown coffee swirling within the irises of londoneer stars

you look back at me, cassiopeia's flickering in your eyes, waiting to gasp the orion's saber

i look at you like i was the orion's

✡

oh, cassiopeia's caph is flecked with beige and blue paint mixing it into one another, creating an astral color of

the paintbrush is in my fingers, and i write on latte cups with paints and not words, i scribble the clouds, i sketch the

i paint

my hands are no longer specked with space ink but the of cafe and dreams

✡

you teach me how to a latte from your cafe's astral ingredient and i hear you like you are orion's

the steam swirls around me, coffee's scent capers over my hands

so is it true, have i lived my dream tonight?

"not just yet."

you hand me a piping bag of melted

then orion asks me, "please

draw cassiopeia for me."

oh, my hands tremble— to draw an empyrean empress with my marred hands on your

"i— i'll ruin it."

"you won't. you

are celestial."

you hold my hand, your cassiopeian tattoo against my wrist, i breathe in your and yet i can't breathe

you draw cassiopeia with me, my fingers melting into yours, oh, i become

you then take my hand to your lips, a dainty star, a dainty caress of your lips on my tepid fingers

"you have painted the

voids of my dreams."