When I meet her gaze,
it rips the soul from my body
and ***** it through time and space
into her hollow and vacuous eyes.
Into the vacuum of her being.

I find myself in her mind
and step tentatively over the creases
and folds of her grey brain,
avoiding the beehives hanging like grapevines
from the ceiling of her skull.

But my eyes adjust to the light
and I see that my fears are misplaced,
it's not hives hanging inside her mind
but a series of dark rainclouds
behind black and blue skies.

It's too dim in here, thinks I,
where's all the sunshine?

If it's true, and her sun has died
I would douse myself and burn alive
just to provide her a little reading light,
just to dry out her rainy skies and
maybe brighten up her nine lives.

If it's true that her moon is hollow and dim
then I would be proud to fill it up again,
I would be happy to reinflate it's craters
with my final dying breath,
with all the essence of my being.

And I would hang it there in the night,
surrounded by the hole-punched skies.
So maybe when it reflects my self-immolation,
light would shine down through her beautiful eyes
and into that long-neglected mind.