I bet your strings could be pulled,
Marion...
ette.

Raspy in motion,
the scars you bear could, would,
will show me the path inside you.
Tongue traces,
**** this brittle bone beware the accent marks on my vowels;
they always catch the lips.

If there is a star, and if it has a name,
I would never reveal it.

My Star had a name,
she blew across and away from my world
left everything burned like
Mercury's surface,
too close to what gives life,
to ever live again.