In the glow
of some kind of metamorphosis;
brightly lit, gluttonous ego,
Lily came to me in a dream.
Her love
she fashioned into a blade;
I was an enigma
she cut through.
I'm such a bad girl
when I miss her,
spilling ephemera in pavements and lipstick.
I could love her
but I'm always gone.
She knows how I love to be gone -
She knows that I am a slave to freedoms
I've written for myself.