last night
I saw the universe in your eyes that night,
moonlight touched your hair,
as warmth whispered by.
you held my hand that night,
as if we might make it again.
there was something holding us so close,
moments drifting,
touch fading,
I saw the universe in your eyes that night,
I looked for stars,
and only saw silence
last night.
the rhythm carried my hand to yours,
the room learnt our timing,
as time kept pace,
the air between us settling in,
my touch upon your warmth,
your eyes stole the stars that night.
I saw the glow upon your dress,
the smiles behind you left,
they watched us close,
we danced and danced that night.
my hand guided,
your breath upon my neck,
already fading,
as we left our songs behind
and carried the music with us,
as if the words we’d sing had already left
muffled sounds,
time sliding by,
crowds and voices fading far behind.
we left together that night,
they watched us leave that night.
heat stayed flowing,
as your eyes held me close,
lights staying steady,
and streets kept our pace,
clouds parting way
as moonlight kissed your face.
the wind holding silence back,
and we saw the years pass gently by,
as the world held us.
I lost the stars in your eyes that night
the universe lost your light.ㅤ
ㅤㅤ
For a short window, I’m offering 50% off a one-year paid subscription, available until the end of January.
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occasional paid-only pieces, and some posts released early before becoming public
Everything I publish publicly stays public.
This is about making space for slower work, and for people who want to stay close to how it’s made.
If you’ve been hovering, this is a good moment to step in.
Begin A First Year →
I’m always open to thoughtful writing collaborations.
Other prose and poems.
Nothing truly leaves — it just changes how it stays.
If something moved in you — a silence that whispered — I’d love to hear it below, or in my DM’s.
All artwork courtesy of NDjin Gallery
Beautifully melancholic ❤️💕
Mark, my friend! You surprise me again and again!
Here you flirt by lingering. The poem keeps finding excuses to touch the same moment again—that night—each return softer, closer, more charged. I love how intimacy here isn’t rushed; it’s built through timing, breath, shared rhythm, the quiet confidence of bodies moving together while the world politely fades. The universe imagery feels less grandiose and more personal, like the stars exist only to witness the way your attention rests on the other person. And that ending—losing the stars, losing the light—lands like a slow smile that realizes it’s also a goodbye. If this is memory seducing the present, it knows exactly what it’s doing.