"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

.
Stark blue suns are her eyes,
Set in the redden cosmos of breaking hair,
Light is caught in rings
And broke are mine as they shy from heat;
The cauldron of spheres,
That rope in the twines of constellations.

In fractals of tearing blood;
Which stream in a body so like heavens,
She plays with sprung time
And the arrow of reason is forced beyond,
Into the eyes unknowing;
How the flesh is shorn in the cloths of stars.

Such cold fire in those eyes,
Neutron blue is the inert crush of gravity;
Unloosed with surrender
And in a field of meteors lies the alchemy;
Crash of rarified metals,
She smelts of iridium blast, casts into soul.

Her eys are for makings,
Planets collide to form creations dream;
To bury sorrows in rock,
As it flows up from an orb into her mantle;
A plateau of cloud for man,
To reach birth of light, christen in goddess.

Love is found not
in fixation
obsession and attraction to
the point of abstraction.
Love does not demand
sacrifice of soul and will,
sitting still, sifting
through emotional ruminants.
Love does not need me.

Love is what I need to be.

(S)he finds me trapped
strength sapped
and gives me heart to heart
resuscitation.
This is love.
I am free to die and weep
and hate and wallow;
love is unfettered by languish,
not lackluster if let to age.
In time, we find, we see the truth
of love's supposed strength in youth,
and instead see
antiquity
grows vines around our walls, and through
windows and doors, inside and out.
Now, when we crumble into dust,
our framework cracks like cheap glass,
we find this love, slow and insidious,
to be the only thing holding us aloft.
*This is your heart becoming mine.