You think I don’t still feel it? 
The echo never left. 
It’s in the light that spills 
across the floor like we used to—
chaotic, accidental, warm.

Yes, I heard every word 
you didn’t mean and the silence 
that swallowed what we couldn’t say.

Time doesn’t rewind, but it replays. 
Not in full—just flashes. 
Your laugh— like a match 
right before the burn.

I wish we’d argued soft...

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Academia Aetheris

(the celestial school of verse)

They came— not summoned, but stirred.

Poets born in the umbra of supernovae, 

dreaming in quatrains 

before they could form hands. 

Choristers of comet tails, 

scribes of auroras in decline.

Each carried a shimmer of that first interlude, 

the brief binding of Flame and Listening. 

Their lines bor...

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