who slept among the stars until he got sick of playing coy and came crashing down to earth. in effect, a genesis in reverse—the world caving in around the craters of his dimples and us dancing amidst the carnage, saying one word, always meaning three. today he says farewell (feelings are fatal), a smile rusting off the tip of his blade, bloodlust bellowing from the ache of his lungs. yet he returns, back and back again.
he orbits me. i orbit him.
and gravity is a wretched, lonely thing.
half-lit in the half-light, we winnow our scales and smile with jagged teeth, talons outstretched for the jugular. all is fair in love and war and intergalactic sleight-of-hand. you borrow time and swindle starlight and vanish without a trace.
i just want to be held. i just want to be held
sometimes, i fear the little god of my heart is, in truth, a monster
who lies, half-crazed, in your embrace.