You should come with a warning sign. A courtesy labeling:
“Don’t be reckless with me, my love is 99.99”
Then I could’ve knew, just a sip of you and I’ll slip into an altered state of mind. Just a distant glimpse imprints a lasting anodyne.
Being with the spaciousness between us allows me self-rediscovery. Uncovering my anxiousness I find recovery from the intoxication of your Moonshine. Exploring the absence of your Absinthe I remind. I also love myself this much inside. Only tender loneliness makes me remember my own dangerous render:
I’m also 99.99.
As lovely as the Moon shines, it only ever feels the smallest sliver of the Sun’s full magnificence. But still, rising in the night, it easily overpowers a whole horizon of our brightest city lights.
Like moonlight, I see a beautiful self-image in the reflection of your eyes, but I am much more radiant than the light I see reflected back at me.
More than I want your Moonshine, I want you to be mine. I want to illuminate your darkness.
I want you to bask in the glowing warmth of my true self. I want you to gaze into the hypnotic dance of my flames, to jump and gasp when a tiny explosion punctuates the soft campfire music, sending sparks shooting into darkest starry nightsky. I want you close to my roaring blaze, but far enough away to be safe and comfortable; toasty but unburnt. I want you to wiggle your cold toes and dry your wet socks and roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories as you fall asleep to my crackling embers.
The best way for me to show you how beautiful you are, how much I love you, is to build my innermost fire, to burn brightly, and expand into the fullness of my own being. Only then can I remain the brightest star in your heartsky. Only then can I define myself,
the luckiest guy.
You are my Moonshine,
and I hope, in time,
I will be yours as you are mine.