He called her star angel
lulling all her demons of sins too heavy
to love herself like in ancient days.
She left wings in hell of weakness
to become loved for faces of gloom.
She trusted that if he loves her
he will go through the fire of nether worlds
in spite of defeats and tears
and sacrifce his life to ****** her wings
from big and little devils
lightning perpetual candle of future days
after sundown of her fragilities
to tear her off shackles of human smallness
making faint the ingidence of her soul
loving her like paridise bird the sun.
Falling to the ground like a shooting star
she became his inexpressible wish.
He travelled to the corner of the world
to catch her in his hands
and make her safe in their Eden
full of bliss, peace and delight.
The way was indicated to him by God
with map written for their hearts.
It was destined day and destined time
meticulously planned in scriptures of Universe.
She knew she had to fall from sky
to shine on his lands closer
because sometimes stars shine brighter
in heavens ment to exist only on earth.
Art is not shining in the midst of millions
to everyone and anyone.
Art is one star worth of wars of heart
for earliest and eternal love
falling from sky once in light years.
She fell to burn in him
the light of his own soul
to guide and heal her
to ignite in her pureness of child.
He was God for her and her absolution,
the only skies where she could glow timlessly
for two lips, two hearts and bodies
but one soul.
She almost fell at his feet
to irreversibly unite them in one flame
giving birth to Universe
with Earth for starcatcher
and Heavens for his starlet goddess.
He existed only for her,
and she just for him.
They knew that earth
is a mirror of the sky.

Her eyes
full of stories that need telling

Her fingers
sore from all the hands she held on to
too tightly

Her body
it trembles with every whisper
of love and lust and lies

Her name
etched on their minds even after they lost her

Her hips
these mountains that call them

Her soul
a temple they swore they'd worship

Her secrets
these are what's left of her
and yet she writes
too honestly, too often

Her poetry
this is how you
fix her