They said I divested Saturn of his rings
and asked if he would dance with me.
He squeezed my fingers so heat lingered.
I knew he was told I'm a danger;
that I don't feel, that I don't kneel,
that I'm a terror, but that isn't fair.
Just say he can't make his own choices.
Say he can't control his impulses.
Why would I tempt a planet to ruin?
Why would I tempt a god to consuming
each breath before it disappears?
Confined him to my strong atmosphere.
Then call my heart weak as it beats in threes
how convenient, toes tap to odd melodies.
For my body's from Venus, how divine.
Yet I was a borne sinner, so keep me in line.
He said good evening as I said goodnight,
atoms were buzzing in the sunlight.
He grinned like I was a prize to be won
It was almost as bright as the starry sun.
So I lead him a bit further and took great care,
Saturn broke his orbit for an affair
and threw himself into the fire.
He was burning desire as I played the lyre.
Strum a gentle song for the end of love,
call me a heartless, winged-rat dove.
Say this is how I feel; this is who I am.
Say I sent an innocent to be ******.
Call me a fiend, a demon, a liar,
when I'm just a woman who played a lyre.

Making stops from the sun to the moon
Who'd say i'd fall in love with you.
I'll land my feet on its dusky grey surface
Tell em Haze sent me,
Message you that i need better communication,
More assertion, more voice.
I'll skimp through 900 degrees,
I need the feminine energy to suffocate me
& i'll assert my drive across the reds
I'll write love letters to demos & phobos,
While i hang from the rings.
I'll take responsibility for falling in love with the stars, the moon and everything about you.

Saturn’s rings
are disintegrating

and Jupiter’s great red spot
is shrinking

and the ice caps on Mars
are sublimating

and our very own Moon
is slowly untethering itself
from Earth’s gravity.

In eight billion years,
the Sun will turn red and swell up

like a toddler on the verge of tears,
and incinerate

Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars—
all of our histories and fossils,

our legends and loves,
our monuments and our ruins.

You and I will be long gone by then, of course—
nonexistent to the extent

that we’re not even aware of our own
nonexistence.

Some people may think of death
as an inky void,

but it must be far more final than that—
an inky void would be copious by comparison.

What if there is simply nothing
on the other side of the curtain?

Perhaps it would be for the best.

For I never was able to avert my gaze
while driving past a smoldering wreck,

and you never could build up the courage to take a look.