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"skintellation firmament"

You tilt your face toward

the dim hallway light,

and a scatter of freckles

gathers its quiet pattern,

as if dusk had paused here,

choosing your skin

for its small lanterns.

I follow them the way

travellers follow sky‑marks:

not for direction,

but for the calm that comes

from recognising a shape

that keeps returning.

Some sit close, like

companions in soft conversation;

others keep their distance,

content to glimmer alone,

each one a tiny proof

that brightness can settle anywhere.

And when you shift — only slightly —

their arrangement changes,

a slow drift across a private firmament,

a kind of line that usually closes a scene,

but instead there’s the faintest movement at your jaw.

.