There's nothing like holding someone in your palm and looking down at them

when they used to be so raised up and universes out of reach

that only when you finally turned your back and pointed your eyes at the ground

did they descent to walk amongst mere mortals and fall into your path

steps tripping feet as they open arms once gold-gilded, now bitter, scuffed and burnished

and no longer quite  blinding enough for you not to see, unfeeling,

that they are not who you wanted them to be.