when I see the colors you carefully speak
your tongue to ink to paper to screen
to my eyes
to my heart, which knows
begging to be let out ( i caged it long ago)
running sharp nails along the dark
side of my ribs, i beg for mercy

heat in my stomach
(or lower?)
I've never been starfishing
I suppose I could have tried
but I digress. this moment i realize
falling stars are real, one has
crashed into my skin
alighting upon my shoulder
whispering in my ear
rain falling and birdsong
and the sweetness of a guitar

are never any match for the voice of a god