he says, "can you see it yet?"
but all i can see is a sky, plum colored and perpetual,
like the underbelly of angel, and i'm waiting
for him to raise an index finger.

but he is laughing and i'm ignoring
this telescope and the way
flanel scratches the paleness of my skin.
"i'm not looking for stars now"
but he is so bright that i think
searching for gaseous pinpricks is
not even a possibility with the way
his skin is glinting tonight.

he is focusing the lens, his hand outlined
like an eclipse against the black metal of the tools he's using,
and i can't help but remember the first time i saw him in the sun.
he was handing star charts to students who could
never get their eyes past his face.

he is blinding in the light,

but he was never a student of the day.
i think it's because Venus doesn't look so pretty
the morning after, and he only hunts
her while she glows, haunting the horizon and
dancing between the scorpion's starry claws on
October nights like these.

i feel inferior, a blackhole sipping at the edges
of his aura while he blazes, searching for other bodies
of equal brilliance. i can still feel his jacket scraping
at my arms, and even as i wonder how long until we
go inside, i know that he will only be content
with something like the moon.