I would say that you are my universe,

my galaxies or the stars in

my night sky.

But they are common analogies

used these days by poets

limited by a collective imagination

or lack thereof.

You are not space, my love,

you are not a void or an empty space

with glimpses of light.

You are not a vast black mass

with spots of white,

you are indeed a spectrum of colors,

my love.

You are a compressed amalgamation

of beauty and flaws

contained in a singular entity.

You are not the unfathomable,

and you are not

the ethereal, my love.

You can be reached, and

you can be sensed in your entirety.

You are not the vacuum, my love.

You are you.

You are an incredible creation; you are a human being.