your svelt form lives in sellers of
shivering bodies and creeping hands,
of a galaxy spun,
from not your ember eyes,
nor your cotton skin,
but the cascade of stars,
embroidered onto your wrinkled face like honor,
or worship or fame.

you just wanted to be loved,
by earth or sea or from abusive winds,
or by my own scared-to-touch fists,
grazing over you as though you were molten lava,
a possessed vessel, kept by the devil.

but lightning only lived in dark skies,
and the sea only roared when it was about to rain,
and the earth only moved around you,
the earth never bothered to hold you,

not like I did.