I Call You Universe
(Because nothing else could hold your name)
You think you’re just a man of skin,
a maze of thought, a noise within.
But I have seen your orbit burn,
the kind of light that won’t return.
You shattered soft and called it calm.
I touched your wounds, I was your balm.
I stayed where others dared not stay,
and kissed the storms you turned away.
You bloomed in silence, sharp and wide.
I held the war you kept inside.
You thought your cracks would make me run,
I saw the gold, and called it sun.
You kissed like gravity unspun,
as if the world came all undone.
No lips had ever reached that deep,
you woke the stars I used to keep.
Your breath redrew my atmosphere,
your scent the compass I held near.
You touched my spine, I lost all time,
a faultline bending into rhyme.
We built a world no verse could name,
too wild for maps, too sharp for shame.
A blaze that broke where silence grew,
we burned in ways just poets knew.
You made me feel what time forgave,
what stars once hummed, what oceans crave.
With you I lived beyond the known,
no map could chart how far we’d grown.
And still I love. Without disguise.
In every nerve, your orbit lies.
No silence dulls what we became,
I breathe, and still recall your name.
Because I loved you past control,
past flesh, past thought, past body’s role.
You live in every line I draw,
each mark, a trace of what I saw.
To be loved by an artist
is to live beyond goodbye,
you echo in each work of mine,
forever etched in time.
You’ll never be replaced or dimmed,
not in sketch, or song, or verse.
You are the ink that won’t reverse.
You are — and always —
‘Bel Univers’
