I like that I keep things hidden beneath my solar wolf flesh
and that I have organic pages filled with black howls
of melted moons and star dust that no one can encode
... not even myself.
I really like it when humans believe they
unraveled my secrets of deep ultraviolet tidal
waves crashing on the curves of my spine,
but they have only reached the shoreline of Europa's crust.
And even though no one really discovers what kisses
and revolves behind my cage of cosmic bone
(a stain glassed galaxy and a little juicy
heart that is a soft pressed nebula),
I like that the thoughts and passionate joys
are all mine and only mine,
and no human can steal the unnamed from me.
But I'm not going to lie,
I'm lonely and misplaced
in this vast, cold place
called outer space,
but maybe I’m just a little bit in love
with swimming in those infrared feelings.
I guess that’s why my sister told me last night
I am the lone wolf crying with the unknown.
And I fall in high respect and love
with the very few creatures
who like to carve me unlocked and
make me bleed my darkest constellations of shooting scars
hidden from sight
… somewhere deep in the outer space.