so it is.

the things you love, you worship,
quiet-like burn you,
returning your favor
with fever.

was innocent, naive.

didn't know the sun could
blister hearts,
you babe,
were my sun,
centric universed.

your hurt,
gift packaged,
disguised as warmth,
went
way way past dumbfounded
surficial flesh.

doc pronounces.

time will heal you,
begging for magic pills
shamelessly.

surgery, I need surgery,
blood transfusion,
excise this poison,
**** it out.

nope, dope,
use your pretty words,
like aloe,
to salve and soothe,
stay away from the
sun of love.

from each poisoning,
traces accumulates,
blisters burst,
love becomes
untreatable, untenable

the danger is not realizing
that in eight minutes,
she, sun goddess,
can travel 93 million light year miles,
leaving you gasping,
eight plodding human years later.