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.